Bright Lights Dig City
by Jayke Manners
Summary: Sara looked up, her eyes haunted. “I’m gonna need another board.” FINAL CHAPTER REMOVED, REPOSTED. I FEEL BETTER NOW.
1. Default Chapter

**Title: **Bright Lights; Dig City

**Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: Yeah, right – I own them. That's why I'm doing this for nothing instead of being paid the big bucks to have my way… MWAHAHAHAHA. OK, not mine.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

**Notes**: Ok, my first Fanfic – well I did an X-files one about three years ago during a fit of depression – and now I have insomnia, so I found this place and have been having fun reading you all. Thought I'd have a go. Please review if you want me to continue… not really sure …

Oh yeah – is it just me or is W.P DAMN FINE!!?? Older men, sigh

**ONE**

The night descended upon the desert, welcoming her secrets and bringing once again its veil of darkness. But this night, in defeat of her efforts, even the black shroud was not enough. The sandy, shadowy underbelly had been exposed – laying bare for the witness of all things, and the secrets she revealed were darker still.

In a circle of light, Sarah and Catherine hunched over the body of a young woman, face down in the dirt – her half-naked torso showing the signs of a day's exposure to the elements.

"Didn't even cover up the body." Sarah remarked. She gazed at the dense shrubbery that spotted the area, at the thick sand that surrounded the compacted dirt where the victim lay. "Wouldn't have been that hard to hide, out here. Either this guy was in a hurry or he wanted the vic to be found." Sara knew it was an assumption to say "guy", but the likelihood of it being otherwise was so remote, she didn't bother to censor her thoughts.

"Or didn't care," Catherine added.

Sara reached a gloved hand into the pocket of the girl's jeans and withdrew a wallet, "It's full of cash," she stated. "Robbery wasn't a motive." She pulled out the ID, noting the laughter in the expression of the girl in the photograph. "Ali Carpenter, 22nd November, 1977." She looked back at Catherine, "Well, he doesn't mind us knowing who she is."

Catherine nodded, eyes squinting as she looked around the scene. Apart from the obvious, something was not right. She didn't like the instant attention this case had caused. The boys who discovered the bodies had called their parents, one of whom contacted the media along with the authorities. The response had been excessive. There were too many cars, too many officers tracking prints across the sand, too many cameras recording their every move. There must be thirty units out here, ruining their evidence. The flashing lights were beginning to bug her. She raised a hand to shield the glare – and, in doing so, noticed a strange silhouette.

"Catherine?" Sarah's eyes followed the gaze of her co-worker, resting on the same object. "What is that?"

Catherine answered by slowly standing and picking her way through the sand. Sara stepped in behind, each footprint a shadow of Catherine's, and raised her torch, "Is that…?"

"A foot." Catherine answered.

The heel and ankle were poking up through the sand, most likely revealing only a small portion of the body that lay beneath. It was no more than ten meters from the first victim. Sarah was about to kneel for a closer look, when she was startled by a shout to their right.

"Hey Catherine, you better come take a look at this!" Catherine glanced warily at Sarah before heading toward the voice. A familiar officer from LVPD was shining his torch on the ground, illuminating what appeared to be part of a scalp and some matted strands of hair.

Sara slowly stood and turned toward the officer, fingers of trepidation crawling on her spine. She looked back at Catherine as another shout rang in their ears, the voice on the verge of shrillness, "Ms Willows! Miss Sidle!"

Catherine didn't step gingerly this time; she marched the few steps and swung her torch, illuminating the face of a young trainee, his pale features reflecting fear. He stared down at his feet, frozen to the spot, his heel planted in the cheekbone of a skull, almost stripped bare and still half buried beneath the sand.

The next shout was Catherine's own. "Alright, everybody freeze! Don't move, stay exactly where you are and search your area." She could hardly believe the words she was about to say. "If you are standing on, or near a body, don't move and raise your torch – everyone else, go dark right now!"

Sarah moved carefully to stand next to Catherine and watched in horror as one by one, unit lights faded, overheads cancelled and all around them, beams of light scanned the area. Some switched off; some darted across the ground and briefly froze, others flicked straight up, a ray of bleakness shining toward the night sky. In a few moments, the area was silent, all movement ceased.

Catherine and Sara gazed at the scene in silent horror. The desert was as still as death, thirteen torches held to the stars.

Sara swallowed and looked at Catherine. Her words came out quietly, almost a whisper. "We better call Grissom."

Catherine didn't reply. Beside them, another torch-light flickered and raised itself to the heavens.

**TWO**

It had taken over two hours to clear the area, mark the bodies discovered so far and illuminate the scene. Grissom had arrived solemnly, Nick and Warwick close behind. He marched straight to Sara and Catherine, now hovering on the edge of the scene, waiting impatiently. Almost every qualified CSI in the district had been summoned for extraction – and they appeared, only to linger a distance away, awaiting their commands.

The remote glare of police lights flashed ominously as Grissom spoke. "OK, first – we need to clear this scene." He looked at each of them in turn, "We'll do a four grid search, then pan back and repeat it to the North, South and West. Sarah, you take the camera, everyone else, mark everything that hasn't already been counted. Once we've cleared it and posted the no-go areas, we'll get the extraction teams in." He glanced at his people, lingering a fraction longer on Sara than the others. All were professional, ready to work – but each showed a glimmer of their reaction to the gruesome landscape. His own despair, he kept well beneath the surface. "We need to be thorough, but time's wasting. Let's go."

The sweep was arduous, the night-air freezing hands and chilling feet until the last scrap of evidence had been marked and collected. The photographs – images of drag-marks, foot-prints, pieces of material, hair, body parts – repeated in Sara's mind like a silent movie. She swallowed, trying to stem the unease that grew from a place she refused to think about. It didn't belong out here in the desert, with the wind and the moon to carry consequences to the faces surrounding her.

Grissom called in the extraction teams and placed them at each body (they had discovered fifteen in all) but the first. Robbins had been summoned an hour ago and was over with Catherine at what appeared to be the most recent victim. Grissom glanced briefly at the team as they wrapped up bagging the evidence, his gaze once more lingering on Sara. He noted her weary, yet restless stance, seeing for the hundredth time the changes that had appeared over the last few months, knowing this case would only add to the burden she seemed determined to carry. He sighed slightly before walking to Catherine, standing behind her as she spoke with Robbins.

Catherine's voice was weary, "Can we take her back?"

"Yes." Al lurched awkwardly to his feet, pushing up hard on the crutch as it sank into the sand. "It's harder to tell with the others until we get 'em out, but it looks like there's a familiar theme. This one's recent, 20 hours. Beaten around the face and torso, looks like a rape."

Grissom winced, "Cause of death?"

"Initial guess? Strangulation. Probably from bare hands, judging by the bruising. I'll know more when I get her back."

Grissom tilted his head to the side, regarding the victim's face methodically. The swelling and bruising marked her entire face, patches of red, yellow and purple that mingled with the dried blood. Her wrists were bruised also, she'd been restrained, but the ligatures had been removed – there were none in sight. Less evidence. He kneeled closer to the girl, noticing a slice glaring out from her temple. "What's that?" he asked.

"Good question." Robbins answered. "It looks like a mark from a ring or foreign object, whatever it was, it was sharp enough to break the skin and strong enough to leave a clear indentation in the bone. I'll check it out and let you know." He turned and gazed ahead with a small grunt of annoyance, then began the long trek back to his Tahoe. All the cars had been ordered to remain half a mile from the scene; his was closer, but not close enough. "I'll catch you at the lab."

Catherine shook her head. "This guy's one nasty piece of work. He did a real job on her." She looked at the scene around them, dotted with markers and teams slowly revealing the ravaged bodies from the earth. "On all of them."

Grissom regarded her, "You ok?"

Catherine nodded, angry. "We've gotta get this guy."

Grissom looked down at the girl lying below. She had been attractive, once. Her dark brown hair was now matted with blood, her clear jaw-line swollen and bruised. But she had been lovely. He thought of the bodies around him and knew that lives depended on how quickly they followed the trail, how fast they could process the evidence and track this psycho down. Whoever did this was no ordinary killer.

He was a monster.

Grissom's jaw clenched in a flash of fury. She had been lovely…

"Hey."

Grissom actually flinched as Sara's voice sounded beside him and for a moment he was speechless – ever since Lurie he too often saw Sara lying in a pool of blood, her eyes like glass, staring toward demons. It could so easily be her, stretched out in the desert with sand in her hair…

"I've finished with the films," she told him. "Nick's just going to bring the car over. You want me to head back and start processing?"

Grissom found his voice and nodded. "Take the other truck, Catherine and I will be here a while yet. And make sure Greg gets the evidence before days arrive." He hesitated, "Tell everyone to get some rest, I want you all fresh for tomorrow."

Sara bobbed her head in acknowledgement. Almost as an afterthought, she glanced down and looked at the body, for the first time appearing in the dawn's growing light. The victim had been turned over, hollow eyes staring blankly toward the north. Fear - and something Grissom didn't recognise - flickered through Sara's eyes as she gazed down for what seemed an eternity, the feeling of dread that had touched at her last night now hitting like a punch to the stomach. Unwillingly, Sara took a step back.

To anyone else, the action might have seemed like nothing at all, a small shifting of weight, a minor overbalance. But Grissom, Grissom who noticed everything, saw it - and wondered. "Sara?"

Sara's head snapped up and in that moment, her eyes returned to normal, her gaze met his with practised, even coolness. When she spoke, the voice was calm, steady. "I'll get back to the lab."

"Sara?" Grissom asked, warned.

But she was already backing away. With a quick glance at Catherine and small shake of her head, Sara smiled and dismissed him. "I'll get some rest, promise." She turned on her heel and began the long march back to the vehicles, her own over a mile in the distance.

Catherine pulled her gaze from the figure back to Grissom, "What was that?"

But Grissom didn't answer, watching in silence as Sara started to run, and run.


	2. Who are U?

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City

**Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: Yeah, right – I own them. That's why I'm doing this for nothing instead of being paid the big bucks to have my way… MWAHAHAHAHA. OK, not mine.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Hey thanks for all the fantastic reviews, this is my first attempt at fanfic – well except for an x-files one about three years ago. Insomnia brought me to this site, thought I'd give it a whirl…

OK, this is all kinda case file stuff, but bear with me, the angsty character stuff is definitely on the way…

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THREE

The body lay, exposed, on the lab table. The examination complete, Robbins snapped off the gloves and was ready to request her closed when the thumping of doors signalled Grissom's presence.

"The verdict?" he asked.

"Well," Al replied, "it's pretty much what we thought. Numerous traumas' to the head, face and abdomen, he was rough – subarachnoid haemorrhage beneath a skull fracture, which surprisingly, didn't kill her. Broken mandible, from the pattern it could be the butt of a pistol, see the indentation of the magazine?" His hand swept the area as he spoke, illustrating his point. "Positive for rape, multiple tears and bruising. Hands were bound, maybe cuff marks – there aren't any fibres, just bruising and abrasions. Cause of Death, asphyxiation due to strangulation. There are strong finger patterns on the throat, two hands - at least you should be able to get a good size-match." He pointed to the mark on her forehead, "This remains a mystery."

Grissom bent forward. The cut was red, deep, clotted in the shape of a "U" beneath the sliced skin. He offered his best suggestion, "A ring?"

Al nodded, "As good a guess as any." He sighed, looking behind him at the seven that had already been brought in. "I'm bringing in a couple of colleagues – I'll need some help with these."

FOUR

Nick was hovering over the microscope, his brow furrowed with concentration. When Warrick entered, he didn't bother raising his head.

Warrick placed another bag on the already brimming tray and spoke,

"How's it going?"

"You won't believe this," Nick answered. He motioned for Warrick to have a look.

"Hair fibres? With tags? I'd have thought that was good news."

"Yeah," Nick huffed with a mixture of irritation and disbelief, "well it would be if we didn't find a different set on every vic."

"You're kidding?" Warrick mirrored Nick's expression. "Every one? There aren't any duplicates?"

"Not unless he grows hair faster than the rest of us," he answered. "Oh, and it gets better." Nick went to the other side of the room, to a table laid out with even more evidence bags and slides. "Carpet fibres are all different too." He placed his hands on the table and lent into it, almost in resignation. "What's the bet the pubics' come back inconsistent?"

Warrick shook his head. "There's no way all those vics' belong to different suspects. This guy has an M.O."

Nick nodded, "Which means…"

"He's planting evidence." Warrick finished.

"Yeah, and we gotta trace 'em all." Nick sighed.

"I'll help you get them to Greg." Warrick offered.

Nick smiled, relieved.

FIVE

Catherine and Brass stood outside the house of Mrs Patricia Carpenter, neither one wanting to be the one to knock. They looked at each other a moment before Brass sighed and rapped on the door. A grey-haired woman answered – she looked as if she were older than her years on earth. For a moment her expression was confused, then understanding dawned and her face contorted in the kind of pain only a mother who has lost their child can understand.

"You've found my Ali." It was a statement, not a question. A knowledge accepted and rejected all at once.

Catherine nodded, watching as the woman reached within herself and maintained her composure, invited them in, to sit. Would they like a drink? No? Well then…

Catherine clenched her teeth and bit on her lip, trying desperately not to think of Lin, damn grateful that Brass would be doing the rest of the visits with a uniform.

Jim cleared his throat, "Mrs Carpenter, we need to ask you some questions."

The woman nodded, tears welling in her eyes, knowing that there really wouldn't be much of a reason for living, after this day.

SIX

Greg sat behind his desk, tapping impatiently at the surface and watching the monitor as it spooled data like a reel of ribbon. Beside him, the printer spat out copies and Greg snatched at them, making quick work of the almost incomprehensible data that filled the sheets. He walked, head down, to the long table at the back of the lab, placing the paper with reams of others in a pile on the second row. As the printer hummed once more and spat out another page, Greg turned and began the process again, knowing it would be repeated far more times than he could bring himself to make sense of. He was pleasantly surprised when his favourite CSI walked into the room. "Hey, Sara" he smiled. "You're in early."

Sara glanced at her watch, "Am I?"

Greg's eyes narrowed, "You have been home?"

Sara's quick, "Of course," was a little too defensive to be believed. "What, are you turning into Grissom now?" she accused.

Greg raised his hands in mock surrender and dropped the subject. He pointed down the hall, "Oh, missing persons dropped those files in your office. You're gonna need a bigger room."

Sara nodded, "If anyone asks I'll be in Three."

"Ok."

Sara disappeared down the hall as Greg mumbled under his breath. "I'm not the one turning into Grissom."

SEVEN

Grissom was in his office, waiting on the AFIS reports before heading off to visit the team at their respective posts. It was only a couple of hours into the next shift and he knew he was going to regret having taken only a short break to go home, wash up, sleep a couple hours and return. At least he could offer the appearance of having showered and rested. He was heading to see Nick and Warrick about the fibre samples when the beeper sounded. Grissom diverted his path to the basement.

"First of all," Robbins proclaimed, "we've definitely got a serial here. That undetermined score? On all but two of the victims."

Grissom glanced at the body to his right and saw the red, "U" puncture on her right cheek. He commented on the pattern of the bruising, "Most of the damage is to the left of the face, indicating a right hander…"

Robbins nodded, adding to the idea he could see being offered, "And so are the marks from the ring."

"But most men wear a ring on the left hand, even if it isn't a wedding band."

"So either this guy is wearing a ring on his right hand or…"

Grissom thought a moment, then brought his left hand up, swiping the air with an imaginary backhand. An eyebrow arched in acknowledgement, it was a likely theory.

Robbins spoke again. "Also, I think you should look at this." He led Grissom to a better view of the bodies, "Now, I've only done preliminaries, but most had ID's, so we were able to create a timeline from missing persons. I've been trying to work backwards." He looked at Grissom, "You notice anything?"

Grissom looked at the scene, his eye critical. The bodies were lined up side by side, heads facing the fridges, feet to the door. For a moment all he could see was death, from what appeared to be at least a year of decomposition to only the previous day. Walking along the column of bodies he paused and stood between two corpses, to his left, nine victims, to his right, the remaining six.

"That's odd," he said. Robbins nodded. Grissom looked once again at the row to his left, the bodies were further into the stages of decomposition, but most had remains of structure, skin and hair. They were all blonde, the hair long. The closest to him still showed signs of having excess fat, but from the frame of the face – pretty. The victims to his right grew more recognizable with each table and as they progressed, the changes were evident. One brunette and slim, the other a red head and overweight, another blonde, but short hair - there was no common pattern to follow. All were entirely different to the girls lined like fallen angels on his other side

Grissom looked at the place he was standing, in the _space_ he was standing. He spoke to no one in particular, "So what happened here?"

EIGHT

Sarah stood in the bathroom and gazed at the mirror, hoping she didn't look as haggard as she felt. Her eyes were bloodshot, her shoulders showing a sharper edge than they used to. She'd lost weight, but not so much as you'd notice - with all the running around and skipping meals it was no surprise. Sara thought she looked a little on edge, but she often did, or at least that's whatthey all kept telling her.

She spat the toothpaste into the sink and placed the brush in her jacket pocket, pulling a stick of gum from her jeans. A loud rap on the door pulled her eyes from the mirror.

"Hey, is anyone in there?"

She coughed and swallowed, calling out. "Yeah, sorry." As she headed out the door she smiled apologetically, "Didn't realise I locked it."


	3. Without a face

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City

**Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: Once upon a time there was a world in which I owned the CSI rights… then I woke up. Not mine… not yet (evil laugh once again)

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

WOW!! Thanks for all the amazing reviews guys, y'all are fantastic! I hope this is travelling in the right vein, let me know if ya need anything that I ain't providing! Oh and never fear, the angst will continue!

NINE

Warrick and Nick could be heard before they were seen; loudest was Nick, obviously less than pleased. "You have got to be kidding me! _Every_ fibre? _Every _hair? Good lord!"

Warrick's reply wasn't that much happier, "Look man, we don't have a choice so pick your poison ok?"

"What about the white fibre?" Nick had discovered the fibre on the seventh victim, such a small sliver that it had been wound around one of the mismatched hair samples.

"Greg's still checking that out, cotton, probably from a towel…"

"Oh great," he replied, "cause there aren't many white cotton towels in Vegas now are there?" His sigh turned into a growl of frustration and he whacked the counter.

Catherine walked into the break room, smiling at the banter. "Good evening, gentlemen. Problem?"

Warrick answered, Nick was still staring at the reports, too busy trying to fathom the work ahead. "Greg returned the results of the carpet fibres and hair from the lab – every sample came back a different donor."

"What?"

"Exactly - gets worse. Only one of the DNA samples returned an ID."

Catherine's eyes widened, "Ouch. Well, at least it's a place to start."

"Yeah," Nick chimed in, "only we also have fifteen samples of carpet fibre to track down."

"We?" Warrick turned and looked at Nick pointedly. "I don't know where you got _we_ from. You were assigned buddy, I was just helping out."

"Oh, yeah?" Nick replied, "Whatta ya got better to do?"

It was Grissom's voice that answered. "Well for a start," he said, making the group turn as one, "Warrick's headed back to the scene. I want to send a dog unit to do a cadaver search."

Warrick smiled and looked at Nick, who glared, but it was a good-hearted glare.

Catherine spoke, "A dog unit? Are we missing something?"

"Not something," Grissom answered, "but I want to make sure we haven't missed _someone_."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, "And on what evidence do you base this feeling that we're missing a body?"

Grissom smiled, "Catherine, it isn't always about the evidence. At least, not this time." He smiled at the collective horror on the faces surrounding him, enjoying their stunned silence for a moment before adding, "I need you to go with Brass and see about that DNA match."

TEN

Brass was talking as he drove. "The DNA is a juvie, 553 Pendleton Ave. Attends LV High, record for breaking and entering three years ago."

Catherine watched the lights go by as evening descended into night, "Seems a big leap, B&E to serial killer." She looked at the file copy in front of her. "And this kid's only sixteen, the vic lived over forty miles away…"

"Yeah well, they all gotta start somewhere." He glanced at Catherine, "Yeah, I know." He didn't believe this was their guy either.

Brass swung the black truck into the drive and they walked to the door, the knock was answered by a pleasant, middle-aged lady wearing an apron.

"Hello," she smiled politely, but was wary. "Can I help you?"

Brass raised his badge, "Jim Brass, Las Vegas Crime Department, this is Catherine willows from the Crime Lab. Does William Anderson live here?"

The woman's expression fell into worry, "Yes, is everything all right?"

"We'd like to talk with him if we can, please."

The woman paused a moment before opening the door and inviting them in. As she walked into the living room a boy looked over and stood up in surprise, "Ma?"

"It's ok honey, these are police officers. They want to talk with you."

Catherine corrected her and smiled at the boy, "Well, I'm not actually a police officer. I'm a crime scene investigator. But we do have a few questions, if that's ok?"

The boy looked confused, and a little frightened, but given the circumstances Catherine didn't see it as a sign of guilt. She sat down and motioned for the boy to sit opposite, handing him a photo of the victim. "Have you ever met this girl before, at school maybe? An assistant teacher? Coach, anything like that?"

William looked down at the photograph, "No. Why, who is she?"

Brass stood next to Catherine, "Her name is Phoebe Kilner, we pulled her out of the desert last night."

The boy looked up in horror, "She's dead?"

"Well she'd want be, she's been there over six months."

Catherine sighed inwardly at Brass' overbearing approach. As soon as she'd glanced at the kid, she confirmed that this definitely wasn't their guy. She tried to ease back into the conversation, "You did a break and enter a few years ago…"

William nodded, glancing at his mother. Catherine continued, "Well, once you commit a crime and you're arrested, even as a juvenile…"

She was interrupted by the mother, "My son is not a criminal! He got in with a bad crowd, did some stupid things but that's changed now. Billy's a good student…"

Catherine held up her hand, "I know, I understand that Mrs Anderson What I'm trying to explain is that your son's DNA is listed on a national register, we refer back to that register every time we gather DNA for a case." Catherine watched the boys face, waiting for his reaction. "William, we found your DNA on the victim."

"What? That's impossible! There's no way!" He swung to his mother, "Ma it's not true – I've never met her, I swear it, I don't even know who she is!"

The Mother came and sat protectively next to her son, "What do you mean you found his DNA?"

Brass interjected. "A pubic hair." He looked at the boy pointedly, "I don't suppose you have any explanation for that?"

William continued to repeat his objections, from his confusion and complete discomfort, Catherine didn't see much of a reason to disbelieve him. "It's ok William. Can you at least tell us where you were on the last weekend of September? All weekend, can you account for your whereabouts?"

Both on the opposite sofa thought for a moment, "I dunno, that was like, six months ago. I was here I guess, or out, or at school?"

"School on a weekend?"

"He trains with the football team," the mother explained, "every Saturday – he hasn't missed a practise this year."

Catherine glanced at Brass. An alibi that was easy to confirm or disprove – and she was pretty sure it was going to check out. Somehow, this kid's hair had ended up on a body half way across the state. She sighed, knowing they were being led on a wild goose-chase.

ELEVEN

Warrick stood, squinting in the dim light and following the canine team at a respectable distance. They'd been traipsing across the desert for nearly an hour, following a similar grid pattern they used the night before. He reached for his phone, ready to call Grissom and tell him he had better stick to his evidence, when the handler started urging the dog in an excited tone, "Hey Gypsy! Hey girl, what you got there? Where's it huh? Where's it at?"

The dog replied with a whimper, scratching at the dirt, digging furiously and leaping back toward her handler, then returning to the same spot and whimpering again. After a few repeats of the behaviour, the handler called her away, slapping her sides and playing rough as a reward for her efforts. He looked up at Warrick, "You got yourself someone down there."

Warrick shook his head and flipped open the phone, this time with an entirely different message on his lips.

TWELVE

When Grissom entered Lab Three, he had not expected to find this.

Fifteen whiteboards stood in solemn reverie; sentries guarding a deadly secret. Each was decorated, not with medals but with information, evidence of the lives once led, now simply reduced to black against white. The notes were scrawled, boxes linked time-lines and personal information with hurried, frustrated slashes. Everything from the victim's last known whereabouts to the next of kin was scrawled beneath an enlarged image of their final reflection. Grissom noted again the change from one group of victims to the other, all the more evident now their faces were clear. He stood for a moment, silently observing the movements of his CSI. "Agitated" was the word that came to mind.

"Sara?"

At the sound of his voice, Sara swivelled her head, unguarded. Grissom did not like what he saw.

"Grissom, hey," she answered, quickly turning her eyes back to the whiteboard. He noted the way her fingers beat impatiently at the back of the case file, the furrow of her brow as she tried to explain. "I thought I'd do up some IDs, get a timeline going." She slapped the last of the photographs into its clip and stood, gazing at the image. Her eyes clouded slightly. "This guy, he has a definite pattern. Every one of the victims was reported missing either on Friday night or the weekend. Two were on a Monday but both of the final sightings were on the previous Friday." She turned to face Grissom, "He's a weekend killer."

Grissom's eyes narrowed, "When did you…"

Sara cut him off, "I came in early." Unable to hold his gaze with this obvious lie, she turned behind her to two maps of the Las Vegas area. "And look at this, all of the victims resided within two hundred miles of the dump site."

He looked to where she was pointing. Sara had placed a red mark on the map to signal the location of ground zero. The victim's homes were represented by coloured pins, all seemingly scattered, but as Sara had noted, within weekend driving distance from both Las Vegas and the body dump. She raised an eyebrow, "This guy has a nine to five, and he's taking road trips."

Grissom's eyes remained on the board, astounded with how quickly Sara had constructed this complex skeleton of events, yet also realizing she was now on her third shift and looking more like a pumped up sprinter than a worn out workaholic. He looked down at the case file in his hand, debating whether to disclose its contents, or simply demand that Sara go home. His hesitation made the decision for him.

"What's that?" Sara's chin jutted toward his hands, her eyes glinting with suspicion.

"I had Warrick go back to the site with a cadaver dog team," he replied. "We found another vic. Six feet under."

Sara grabbed at the file and was pouring over it before Grissom even had the chance to finish, jaw cracking on the mint she rolled in her mouth. Her voice was filled with confusion, "But she was…

"…killed three months before the others…"

"…and buried." Sara was used to the way they finished each other's sentences, it was out of habit, begun as a teaching method and ending more as a pattern of thought. "What else do we know?"

"She's down with Al now; Warrick said no blood on the clothing, no broken bones apart from…"

"She wasn't beaten?" Sara's tone was now demanding, "What about cause of death?"

"…a fatal blow to the back of the head, blunt force trauma."

Sara shook her head, "That doesn't make any sense. That's not the MO Are we sure this is related?"

Grissom gave her one of his looks, "We can't be sure of anything… yet."

They both fell silent, Sara's gaze transfixed on the photo of the victim.

Grissom pulled in a slow, weary breath. Knowing Sara was becoming increasingly difficult, for both of them. The truths she seemed more than adept at hiding from the rest of the world were so evident to him – looking at her now became almost painful. He tried to push his thoughts away, as he tried to push Sara, but with each day her silence became harder and harder to bear. The only defence had been his own closure; withdrawing at the sight of her, turning when she entered so as to avoid her penetrating gaze. It had been his fault, Grissom knew that more than anyone. He'd hurt her; just as much as Sara's mere presence could cut into him like a blade. Watching Sara leave and knowing what he knew, there were parts of Grissom that would never forgive himself for what he had, or hadn't done. He took little comfort in the knowledge that she'd begun to push back, that her resistance now almost exceeded his own. They had created a world separate from each other and Grissom was beginning to realise just how far apart their lives had become. Watching her now, he tried to remember the smile she'd greeted him with that first day of her return. He couldn't. Maybe if he closed his eyes… but seeing Sara like this, there wasn't a lot left of that girl to create the comparison.

"We're going about this all wrong Grissom." Sara's voice was so low he almost missed hearing her. "We've been looking at the last victim for the evidence… but that's not where it all started."

Grissom turned his head slightly, in question.

"It's here," she said. "This girl. This is where we have to look. This is where it all began." She looked up, her eyes haunted. "I'm gonna need another board."

TBC


	4. Changing rooms

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: If anyone out there is listening… I'd like to own CSI, or maybe just the right to play with them a little? No? Damn.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

I never knew a person could get so addicted to reviews, thanks very much everyone, you are keeping me going on this! I hate to say it now, but I'll be away for a week so the next update wont be for a while. I'll get one in as soon as I get back… if you want me to keep going that is 

(Oh, and I am getting sorely tempted to get very shippy, which I don't really want to do as I'm trying not to have them all go OC in a case-file story. What the hell are these 'challenges' everyone keeps doing? They look fun and darn it, I need an outlet!)

Oh and sorry if this is a bit crap, I haven't had time to review it so.. forgive me.

THIRTEEN

Nick was hunkered at the lab table, surrounded by a mountain of books, documents and lab equipment. He tried to think of them less like masses of workload to plough through and more like divisions of an army, all battling toward winning the same war. He grimaced when Greg burst through the door, grateful for the distraction. "Hey bud, bring me good news?"

Greg smiled ruefully, "No such luck. All your hairs came back as separate donors. No ID's, no records, no nada."

"Aww man."

Greg nodded, "I share your pain." He glanced at the paperwork, "How's the fibre search going?"

"Fifteen samples, two matches. Or at least, two known makes and models."

"So they're definitely car fibres?"

"Yep, most likely from the trunk. It's the most popular place for dead body transportation."

At that little gem of information, Warrick entered, joining in on the conversation. "Finally, we know something. Well, almost." He placed two files on top of the pile in front of Nick. "I think I found your cars."

Nick sat up, "No way!"

Warrick smiled, somewhat repentantly, "Well, at least I found where they came from. Not that it's gonna get us any closer." He opened a file and prodded the first page, "Stolen vehicles. I checked the DMV to coincide with the missing persons – we got two for two."

"One of those cars was only stolen a couple months ago…"

"Yeah," Warrick flipped the folder to the last page, revealing a photograph of a charred wreck. "They destroyed it three days after the insurance claim was processed."

The hope which was rising in Nick's eyes faded. He shook his head slightly, bowing it and rubbing his eyes as he rested on his elbows. "Man, this is insane. We've gotta do something. This guy's gonna go again."

Warrick nodded, "Find me some more cars to hunt down – maybe there's still one out there, somewhere."

But they all knew there would be no cars. The evidence was being destroyed before they even had the chance to discover it.

FOURTEEN

The hallway was deserted. With two hours before Days arrived, Grissom was intent on getting out of there before Ecklie made an appearance. He had a bundle of file copies he was taking home and needed to talk with the team before end of shift. He glanced at his watch, almost taking out Catherine as she rounded the corner.

"Whoa, Grissom. Careful." Catherine wiped her chin with the back of her hand, trying to rid herself of the coke that splashed there before it dribbled down onto her shirt. She sighed in resignation, both at her shirt and the case. "Definite no way on the DNA kid. Alibi checked out."

Grissom sniffed, they'd all figured that.

"All we have to do now is work out how the hell his hair ended up at a place he's never been, on a dead girl he's never even met." A thought occurred to her and she looked hopeful, "Any more matches?"

By the expression Grissom gave her, she knew there wasn't.

"Hey, Catherine!" Sara called out from the other end of the hall, striding toward them with fast, short steps. "You just interviewed that DNA match right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"He still attend LV High?"

Catherine nodded, "Yeah, he's a senior."

Sara whipped out a photograph and thrust it toward them, "Our first vic, Jessica Andrews. Three guesses which school she attended?"

Catherine grinned, "Well now, that's a co-incidence."

Grissom pursed his lips, "And if there's no such thing as a co-incidence?"

Sara raised an eyebrow, "Commonality." Catherine nodded.

The three stood silently a few moments, each considering the possibilities, it was Grissom who spoke first. "Was our match on the football team?"

Catherine turned, surprised. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

He grinned slightly and answered with a jeopardy theme, "Answer: I am a place often filled with teenage boys, white cotton towels and a whole lotta male DNA."

After a beat Sara smiled. "What is the boys' locker room at LV High?"

FIFTEEN

In a couple of hours, the early morning light would begin to filter through the windows of the deserted hallway, but for now, it remained bathed in an artificial glow, eerily quiet. Nick smirked softly, remembering the days spent running wild and playing pranks on his team-mates – all in a locker room just like this. His smile faded when he caught a glimpse of the police tape on the door and remembered the reason he was on all-fours, collecting hair from the drains of the shower room.

Sara knelt a few meters away, shining the UV and swabbing some final traces. She was surprised at the amount of samples she'd taken over the past three hours, obviously the cleaners left rather a lot to be desired. Her nose wrinkled at the thought. She closed her eyes and flicked out the UV, annoyed by its traitorous quivering. Damn she was tired. Slowly her mind drifted to the bottom drawer of her office desk, of a way to take the edge off, relieve the nervousness in the pit of her stomach. Sara sighed and pushed the thought away, leaning back on her haunches and enjoying the coolness of the tiles on her aching back.

Then the memory descended.

A sudden, fierce wave of nausea overcame her and she gagged, desperately clenching her teeth to stop the bile that rose in her throat. 'Oh God, not again,' she told herself. 'Breathe… Just breathe... Breathe.'

Nick heard a clatter as the UV fell to the floor, "Sara?" he turned toward her. "You okay?" The sight of her – white, clutching her knees with shaking hands and eyes closed in pain – had him on his feet in an instant. "Sara…"

"I'm fine." She quickly stood, irritation in her voice, but the movement was too rushed and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall, it was Nick who grabbed a hold.

"Whoa," his eyes filled with concern as his other hand supported her waist. "Easy, easy."

Sara pulled away, ignoring his troubled expression. "It's ok Nick, I just stood up too fast, back off." At his shocked expression, she instantly regretted it. "Sorry, Nicky. I'm… Sorry." Offering an apologetic smile, Sara turned for the door, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, freshen up a little okay?" Not waiting for an answer, she walked out the door, noting with relief that Grissom hadn't heard the conversation, engrossed in his work at the other end of the room.

Nick stood and watched her unsteady progress along the floor, his clear eyes glinting in the light. Eventually his gaze turned toward the figure in the corner.

Grissom was staring, silent; lips pursed in concern for the disappearing form of Sara Sidle.

SIXTEEN

Sara pushed at the door and walked straight to the wash basins, noting too late to care that she had entered the male bathrooms by accident.

'Still early,' she thought. 'No one will be here for an hour yet.' She splashed water on her face, drawing relief from the feel of it, cool and cleansing against her skin. The nausea had subsided, but her arms were trembling as she leaned against the porcelain. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Sara almost laughed out loud. Good lord, she was a sight to behold. Her skin was pale, dark circles rimmed her puffy eyes. She half expected to see track marks running up her arms – that's what she was starting to look like – a strung out junkie waiting for an overdue fix. Trouble was, she only had access to one method, when the fix she really needed seemed to be getting further and further away.

"God, Sidle," she spoke out loud. "Get a grip on yourself."

"I can do that for you baby."

Sara spun around at the strange voice, hand instantly on the revolver at her hip. It relaxed only slightly when she realized it was just a couple of kids from the football team, although 'kids' could hardly be the best description – they were twice her weight and had at least six inches on her.

"Damn girl," the taller one licked his lips and gave a small strut, "you are fi-ine." He looked to the ceiling, "Thank-you God."

Sara grinned without humour, "Very funny boys." She moved to exit, but they stood in front of the doorway, blocking her path.

"Hey baby, where you going so fast?"

Sara could feel her heart start pumping, in a few seconds the sound in her ears was almost deafening. She flipped out her ID and stared the pair down, "Actually, wherever I damn well please. Get away from the door."

At the sight of the badge both boys subdued instantly, raising their hands and parting to make way between them for her to pass. "Sorry, no offence ya know? We're just playin' wit ya. No harm, no foul."

When Grissom asked her about it, years later, Sara was never able to remember the moments that followed with any clarity. One moment she was turning sideways to push through the door, the next all she could hear was an awful lot of distorted noise and shouting and blurred images of light. Her name was being bellowed in her ear and strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, one pulling at her hand which was somehow intent on snapping the wrist of a strange man screaming beneath her on the floor. Her vision was fuzzy, she didn't understand where all the yelling was coming from – but it sounded strangely like her own voice, and Grissom's and Nick's, mingling with cries of pain from… who the hell was that under her knee and why was she ramming his head into the ground?

It was Grissom's voice that finally broke though, "Sara! Sara, let go! SARA, damn it let go NOW!" A pain shot through her as Grissom roughly yanked her hand away. She was dragged backwards, held tight against his chest, wrist clamped with a vice like grip as Nick pulled the stunned footballer from the ground, a threatening gaze and upheld arm warning the friend to back the hell off. Sara's breath came out in wracked gasps, she was unable to speak, unable to move against the grip of Grissom, holding on for dear life.

The boy began screaming, "Man what the hell are you doin? What are you on girl? I outta sue your ass you stupid bitch!" He swung away from Nick who allowed him free but kept his hand up, forewarning of a damn fine beating if anyone got out of line.

"Sue me?" Sara's was yelling, and a voice inside her head told her she sounded crazy, sounded out of control. "Go for it, right after I drag you in for assaulting a law officer!"

Nick interjected, "You did what?" He looked like he was going to kill someone, probably the guy closest to him, then maybe start on the one behind.

The kid was still shaking, "No way man! She wanted to get past… I just went to escort her out the door; I hardly even brushed her…"

"Ohhh, wrong answer buddy." Nick had whipped out the handcuffs and was ready to rock when Grissom interrupted, "Nicky, leave it."

Nick turned, stunned. "What?"

Grissom gave him a look, "I said leave it." He glared at the footballers, silencing them instantly. "You two, get out of here. Now."

The pair considered an argument, but between Nick's eagerness to slap them in handcuffs and the rather terrifying expression on the older man's face – they merely swore beneath their breath and sauntered out the door, one calling over his shoulder as they left, "That bitch is crazy man, you need to get her a straight-jacket!"

The three stood silently for a moment, Grissom still holding Sara, Sara trying to regain control of her breathing and Nick, hands on hips, gazing in bewilderment at the pair in front of him

After a while Grissom nodded at Nick, "You go finish up. We're done here. Get those samples to the lab."

Nick paused and for a moment it looked like he was about to ask the question he really needed an answer for, but under Grissom's gaze, after a long look at Sara, he simply nodded and walked away.

Sara realised after a time her back was still pressed against Grissom's chest, her hand still clutched by his own. Grissom knew that he needed to step back, they couldn't stand like this forever, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to let her go – scared that once he did, she would fall...

Sara fought to keep the lump in her throat from breaking through and spilling from her lips, to blink back the tears stinging her eyes. She was terrified of what had just happened, of the fact she couldn't even remember what she'd done, if that footballer had even touched her before she slammed him into the ground. She knew she was almost done in, that even the slightest surrender on her part would have her slip completely, out of control. The thought occurred to her that maybe it was better if she did.

"Sara?"

At the sound of his voice she pulled away, only his hand holding on managed to stop her leaving completely. She wouldn't meet his eyes, staring down, gazing at the hand on hers as his thumb stroked her wrist. "Sara, what just happened in there?"

She didn't answer straight away, her eyes locked on the only link she had to the ground beneath her. Grissom began to think she might not have heard him, the way she just stood there, hypnotised by the movement on her wrist, as if it wasn't even a part of her own body. Suddenly, she took a sharp breath and he watched as from somewhere within, Sara called upon her strength, or maybe it was her weakness, and drew the mask up into her eyes. When she looked up, there was nothing left of her, when she spoke, there was no one there.

"He assaulted me Grissom, so I stopped him. I stopped him before he could turn me into one of your desert babies." Her next words were not accusing, spoken like she was commenting on the weather, "And then you let him go." Her hand pulled away and she started to walk back to the Tahoe.

"Sara..." he waited for her to turn, but she merely stopped a few feet away, and tilted her head. "When we get back I want to see you in my office."

Her chin turned a little further in his direction, before she nodded once, and left the building.


	5. What Sara never said

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's characters… if I did, at least one of them would be in my bed right now and darn it all… so would I! Oh and the song is by Sting, the one and only…

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Hey, I'm baaack. It was so wonderful to return to such brilliant feedback… I nearly guv up on this but you guys are so sweet, I had to keep going. Thanks so much for the support. Plus I couldn't leave S & G like that could I? Short one but I'll update soon.

PS… Ghibli., all will be revealed… (oooh, eeerrrr)

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SEVENTEEN

_Don't stand, don't stand so_

_Don't stand so close to me_

_Don't stand, don't stand so_

_Don't stand so close to me_

Greg could not sing. He really couldn't. Grissom mused over this as he entered the DNA lab, wondering why someone who was so bad at something would be intent on alerting that fact to the rest of the world. He raised an eyebrow when the young techie looked up, slightly amused at the speed of which the stereo was turned off. Grissom was slightly disappointed, he always had liked that song.

"Oh Captain, my Captain." Greg saluted. "You're gonna love me."

He pulled a sheet from an overflowing file. "When you mentioned the DNA might all be from the same location, I ran a few extras on the hair and the cotton thread." He hit the projector and the screen lit up, filling the room with a rather nasty looking pattern. "May I introduce, Mr Cladosporium."

Grissom narrowed his eyes. "Mould?"

"Precisely!" Greg was smirking in his usual 'I am the king of the lab' manner. "In fact very much the kind of mould one might find in, perhaps… a locker room shower?"

Grissom grinned, inwardly impressed with the way the young CSI was growing into his new responsibilities. "Nick's bringing some comparisons. Let me know." He turned to leave, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, "Greg?"

Greg looked up, rather pleased with himself.

"Good work. Go home and get some rest, shift's over."

EIGHTEEN

Sara kept her head low as she passed by the break room. Nick was inside with Catherine and Warrick. She didn't think Nick would say anything to the others, but she didn't really want him saying anything to her either, so as they were having their coffee and dunking their morning donuts, Sara walked right on by.

"Sara?"

God, she was so sick of hearing her name like that. The irritation was compounded by the knowledge of its source. Why the hell had she walked by his office instead of going around back? Not thinking straight, too damn tired. She turned and stood in the open doorway.

Grissom tilted his head, inviting her in. He added a quick, "Get the door," although he was pretty damn sure the slab of wood wasn't going to be much help. He motioned to the chair, "Have a seat."

Sara sat, her eyes guarded. Grissom knew she must suspect something, but either way, she wouldn't make it easy. He figured he'd just spit it out – get it over with and bear the brunt of her anger. Regardless, he let out a small sigh before he spoke. "Sara, I'm taking you off the case."

Grissom always hated the phrase, "the air grew thick." It never seemed to apply itself. Whenever a situation of tension developed, he never found the air to be thick, if anything, it thinned out – particles fizzled and created electricity, you were closer to everything and able to move from one place to the next like slicing through ice with a blade. Yet here he was, sitting in the room when the impossible happened. The air grew thicker than he had ever imagined.

Sara sat in complete stillness, for a moment he thought she was going to explode out of the seat and take a swing at him. Instead, she seethed, frighteningly still. Her voice was low, controlled, menacing. "How dare you."

"Sara…"

"I can't believe this," she continued over the top of his protest, "you hypocritical…you just do whatever…" The words evaded her. There were so many thoughts buzzing in her head, she had no way to place them together in a logical order. It was as if all her anger and frustration seeped from her stomach and rose into her throat. And she was choking on the anguish. Suddenly, Sara leapt from the chair and headed for the door, unable to control the urge to get out, to get away before she did something that would have her jailed, or at the very least, fired.

As she reached for the door handle, Grissom spoke. He struggled to keep his voice even. "You know I'm right about this."

"_What_?" The thickness suddenly dissipated, the air instantly thinning as the yell broke though its haze. Sara swung around, eyes wild. "God Grissom, you are the most arrogant… If it wasn't for me you'd still be sitting around examining the evidence on Ail Carpenter! And you wanna pull me from the case?" Her whole body was starting to shake with fury and frustration, her breath coming out in rasps. "God, the double standards in this place are killing me! Catherine's ex gets called out on murder - you let her all over it. Warrick gambles his life away and you practically give him a god damn promotion! You become obsessed with Lurie and hey, that's just fine! But the second I become effected by a case, I'm compromising the whole fucking unit! I didn't even **know** these girls Grissom…"

"Sara…"

"NO!" She was now shouting loud enough for the entire building to hear, the force of her own anger burning in her throat. "I'm sick of you treating me like this. It's one rule for Sara and one for everybody else! Well you know what? I've had it Grissom! I …"

"Sara, I know."

The words, though spoken softly, throttled through her rage and hit like a bullet from a shotgun, penetrating into a deathly silence. From his expression, Sara knew he wasn't simply making a statement of agreement.

Grissom watched silently as her mouth moved, as she struggled to form the words, to come to terms with the impossible. She forced a word from her lips, "What?"

Grissom answered in the only way he could, detached. "I know what happened to you Sara. A year ago. I know."

It took every ounce of strength Sara had to remain upright. Her eyes glazed over. She felt her knees buckling, the walls she had so carefully and painfully constructed, crumble to her feet like salt. But she remained, with only the slightest waver. Her tone was accusing, her voice a stony whisper, "Brass."

Grissom shook his head, "Brass didn't say anything."

"Then how…?"

"I see you, Sara." He gazed at her, trying to make her understand. "I… You take two weeks off, come back wearing too much make-up…" He couldn't hold her gaze, his eyes fell. "I see you."

In any other situation, those words would have soothed, the tenderness with which they were spoken caressed her heart and given her hope. But not here, not at this. "The others?" she asked.

"I don't think so. Catherine said something but… I don't think so."

Sara nodded. Grissom wanted to go to her, wrap his arms around her and whisper into her hair that everything was going to be ok. That somehow, everything would go back to normal and it was all – all of it, every last useless minute – just a bad dream that he could take away. But he didn't. He didn't know what to do. It was impossible to even look at her, just standing there – Grissom had never seen someone look so alone in his entire life. So he did the only thing they could both rely on, he became her supervisor. "I want you to go home."

A small laugh escaped her lips, "Grissom. I know what you're thinking, but I'm fine. It was over a year ago, I've worked a hundred cases since then." Her voice started to rise, "You need me on this, you know it…"

"I don't think…"

"Grissom listen to me…"

"It wasn't a request Sara!" She actually flinched at the intensity of his voice. Oh God, he hadn't meant to yell. Grissom sighed and shook his head, his tone softening. "I want you to go home."

Her anger had returned, but finally, she was too exhausted to argue. Sara turned – defeated – and started out the door, pausing when he softly spoke again.

"I'll have one of the boys take you home."

She closed her eyes, almost smiling at the extremity of his reluctance to be any where near her, "I'm fine, Grissom, " she answered, "I can drive."

"I don't think so."

Sara turned, surprised at the intonation. For a long moment she gazed at him, confused, then understanding, the anger grew. It made little difference that he was probably right. "I _can drive _Grissom."

He held her gaze, unwavering. "And if I asked you to prove it?"

Grissom had never seen her face like this before. She had been shocked by his revelation, but this was something else. He remembered a case, a few months ago, where the victim had been raped and left for dead. The job would've been difficult enough, but was made even worse by the husband of the victim, who rejected the wife's claim that it was his brother. Sara had talked briefly with Grissom when the brother was finally convicted. They watched the couple walk down the hall, a mile away from each other. _"I used to think there was nothing worse than rape," she said. "Guess I was wrong." Grissom turned to her, eyes asking the question. Sara had returned the gaze and held it, as if asking him to help her understand, answering for him when he couldn't. "Betrayal."_

And now, Grissom was witnessing first hand Sara's worst nightmare. He waited for her to defy him, to start the yelling and accusations, the anger which would cut his legs from under him, but none of that came. She just stood there with that look on her face, as if she had suspected it all along. She was alone, and she couldn't prove her innocence to save her life.


	6. Full Mental Jacket

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. There are many things that aren't mine, my sanity being close to one of them… but that's another story.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

OK folks… bear with me. Not sure if this is up to scratch so feel free to let me have it! I have to keep the ball moving with the case-file so there's a lot of it in here… don't worry, things will be really heating up soon. Let me know what you're thinking. I aim to please 

NINTEEN

Grissom ambled down the deserted hallway, glancing at his watch. The others had gone home over an hour ago, all with the understanding that they would be back before the sun fell. Catherine and Warrick were only ducking home to freshen up and change before meeting with Brass to canvass the school. Grissom wanted every person who ever came into contact with Jessica Andrews given the third degree, they all figured it was best done at the location she was last seen alive. He would be joining them himself in a matter of hours.

It was a strange comfort to him, the desolation of the night shift's floor, even during the day. Very few from the other shifts bothered entering into their corner of the building, the lack of windows to the interior hallway keeping the night-like quality even during daylight hours. Grissom often regretted sighting the golden glow as it peeked above the horizon, as if it somehow threatened to take his succour, drawing the solitude from him as the light canvassed the earth. It was an odd feeling, he knew – most people found joy in the rising of the sun.

He headed toward the elevator and fumbled for his keys, muttering an expletive when he realized they were still sitting on the desk – the desk of a room Grissom never wanted to enter again, after watching Sara leave it only a few hours ago. Turning on his heel, the word that had only barely made it past his lips now turned into a full blown burst of anger… the light was still on in Lab Three. The lab Sara was supposed to have left empty and departed hours ago. Anger and cowardice spilled into his throat like a gin and tonic, part salvation and part traitor to its own creation. There were places in Grissom that wanted to simply walk on, pretend the day's events had never occurred, return to the pattern of pretence to which they had so easily retreated a hundred times before. But his anger quickly overwhelmed any desire to avoid a confrontation - slapping the handle down, Grissom shoved at the door, his growl echoing straight into the walls at the end of the room. "Sara?" he demanded. "Sara!"

His anger diminished as quickly as his voice. The surprise of the vision before him not only stilling his lips, but halting him in the centre of the room. Sara lay, curled up on a small black sofa that retreated in the corner of the lab. An artificial light bathed her hair and neck in an eerie glow, her hand lying limply on the arm of the chair beside her nose. The back facing him curved inward, as if to ward off blows, while the rise and fall of her sharp shoulders indicated the depths of slumber. He slowly moved towards her, noting the paperwork that fell from the arm beside her head, the photograph of Jessica Andrews on the floor. A sharp pain interrupted his breath when his eyes fell on the empty glass on the table – he didn't bother to sniff out what it may have held, he already knew too well. "Oh God," Grissom whispered. "Sara."

He carefully sat on the edge of the sofa, staring down at her prone form for what may have been hours, but was only a few, fleeting moments.

What the hell were they going to do?

At the movement of the chair beneath her, Sara moaned and turned slightly toward him and for a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to wake – her eyes would open and she would see him staring and hit out at him so hard his jaw would break. But Sara wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Their safety assured, he reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, allowing his fingers to linger on the arc of her forehead, his thumb to stroke gently along the strong line of her cheekbone. The urge to take her in his arms was unbearable, the need to lift her and hold her against him pounded in his chest with relentless brutality. A thought echoed in his mind that he had betrayed her in more ways than one today, probably more than he could ever realize. Yet after all he had said to her, all the accusations and disclosures, still it was not enough to send her home. How dreadful must the world have become that going home was secondary to curling up in a deserted laboratory, on a sofa that was too small and surrounded by the faces of death?

With as much strength as he could muster, Grissom slowly removed his hand, replacing her soft skin with the roughness of his beard as he supported the weight of his head.

What the hell were they going to do?

He realized that, for the moment anyway, there was now a question of a far more pressing concern. What was _he_ going to do with the passed-out-drunk form of Sara Sidle? He could take her home, but that would entail carrying her to the basement and manoeuvring her into his truck without anyone from 'days' noticing. Unlikely probability. Then of course there was the matter of just where he would end up taking her. She wouldn't be too happy with him going anywhere near her house, considering the final insult she'd uttered before walking out of his office. And he doubted she would much enjoy the humiliation of waking up on his bed, or couch, or in fact anywhere within a mile of his presence.

But there were risks in leaving her here. What if the cleaners walked in and noticed the empty bottle in the trash? What if one of the day shift came in looking for a burner or spare cultures? What if Conrad decided to snoop around and found her, _and found her_? End of career for one, and if her current state of mind was any indication, end of days might just follow suit.

Grissom stood, grabbed a pen and paper from the desk, scrawled a note and ripped off a piece of masking tape to stick on the back. Pulling off his CSI jacket, he carefully draped it over her shoulders, for a brief moment imagining that it was he folding over the curve of her back. Quickly, before he changed his mind, Grissom snatched the bottle from the trash and rinsed the empty glass out in the sink. With a final glance toward the soft light in the corner of the room, he clicked the lock, pressed the makeshift sign, "Entomology in progress. Enter at own risk. G.G." onto the door and left her, once again.

TWENTY

Catherine and Warrick stood, eyes squinting in the daylight behind darkened sunglasses, Catherine with her third cup of coffee clutched in her hands. Brass was going to be a few minutes yet and with a long list of associates to interview, the day ahead was already destined to be long and tiring.

Warrick leafed through the notepad he'd spent the past four hours scrawling hurried notes upon, all drawn from the depths of Jessica Andrew's file. There were at least seven priority students they needed to speak with, including Tony Flanders –Jessica's boyfriend and the last known person to have seen her alive. Five teachers were also on their list, none of whom really sparked any major interest. They had all declared her a sweet, if a little overly social student, more interested in her party life than in her studies. Her gym teacher had seemed slightly over-attentive, or at least that's what the investigating officer reported, but it appeared more of a general interest in all cheerleaders' than a specific fixation with the deceased. The principal was more concerned with maintaining the discretion of the school than helping with the investigation, which is why their fellow officer in law was now in her office, smoothing things over and promising complete co-operation with the student board's policies regarding confidentiality and student rights. Warrick sighed, wondering exactly what they were supposed to learn out here that the initial investigating officers had been unable to uncover. He turned to Catherine, "So," he asked, "what's happening out here? We got a plan?"

Catherine shrugged, "Separate and interrogate. Compare notes, find the bad guy, solve this thing and get the hell home."

Warrick gave a snort, "Good plan."

They were interrupted by the sight of Brass standing in the entrance of the school, waving a hand for them to come on over. With him was Detective Higgins, a face they were familiar with but hadn't seen in a while. A good cop, great investigator and one hell of a damn fat man. Brass smiled wanly as they approached. "That principal's a real doll," he muttered. Nodding his chin at Warrick, he turned and led them down the hall, "War, you're gonna go with Higgins to check out the teaching staff." Brass continued as the three shook hands and exchanged general greetings. "Catherine'll stick with me to interview the kids. At no time can any of us be alone with any minors, especially the girls. Either the parent or a teacher has to be present, which is being arranged – and Cath has to be in the room at all times when I'm interviewing female students." He pulled off his sunglasses as he led them toward a room at the end of the hall, "Like I said, a real doll."

He gave instructions to Higgins as to where to find the teachers and the room he'd been given for interviews, reminding Warrick that, as a law officer, he wasn't there to interrogate, he was simply to gather the facts and report back any unusual findings. The department was doing Grissom a favour, another one. If anything was amiss, Brass would conduct another interview with the suspect and Higgins later in the day. For now, they were on a mission of information, if anything was skipped in the initial reports, now was the time to discover it. Any problems?

'Hell no, no problem.' Warrick thought. Just maybe that he was scared shitless that he'd miss the vital piece of evidence and face the wrath of his supervisor, his team-mates and the entire city of Las Vegas. No problem at all. He turned and walked with Higgins toward the staff office, flicking out his notepad, pen clutched in a balled up fist.

Brass led Catherine into an empty classroom, it looked like some sort of music hall, there was an amphitheatre effect to the seating, and music stands scattered the area. They pulled a few chairs and a desk together, arranging the furniture to best suit the interviewing style, formal, yet non-threatening. A few moments later a bemused looking teacher walked through the door and announced himself as Mr Peter Bryers, the supervising student counsellor. He didn't want to be in the way, he would just sit quietly in the back, if he was needed, just call out. No problem.

Catherine sat on the right of Brass and opened her copy of the Jessica Andrews file. She had come armed with an abundance of information and, most importantly, photographs of the victim. There was nothing quite so effective as a gruesome photograph to ram a particular point home, or to aid in evoking a confession or deeply guarded secret. And the images of a badly decomposed Jessica were certainly grisly enough for that. She lay the pictures face down, they would all have their time and place, but not everyone needed to be exposed to that.

Brass cleared his throat as a pretty, blonde girl meekly entered the room. She hesitated a moment, then sighting the counsellor in the back, stepped forward and offered a dazzling smile, "Hi, I'm Kammie. Principal Warner said you wanted to see me?"

And so the day began.

Catherine was tired by the third interview, irritable by the fourth and bleary eyed at one thirty as the fifth entered through that damn swinging door. Nothing had been revealed that wasn't already in the file, no one offered a grand announcement, there were no dark secrets to reveal. Once again, they were getting nowhere. And if she saw one more bubbly teenage cheerleader she was going to throw up.

TWENTY ONE

Sara was sitting in Lab Four, glaring into the masses of paperwork she had neglected for weeks. As diligent as she was with each of her cases, wrapping up the final pages always seemed to find a way of becoming the least important priority of her day. Now she had nothing better to do, they sat resolutely in a wall around her, mocking with their white faces. She was buried in the bowels of Robert Masters and his fall from grace (quite literally, he had fallen backwards off the nineteenth floor of the "Grace" towers following a big night on the booze) when the door swung open and there he was, the love of her life – she really was beginning to hate him.

"Hey," she said, glancing up briefly before returning to the folder in front of her.

His eyes narrowed, "What are you doing here?"

She didn't look up, kept her tone neutral. "Catching up on some paperwork."

Grissom fell silent. He had hoped Sara would eventually just go home. She appeared to have showered and changed, with one clothing exception that he didn't quite know how to take, so he ignored it. He at least could be partially comforted by the knowledge she'd gotten a few hours of sleep. But returning to work while the case was still active wasn't part of the game plan. "I thought you might take some time off?" he offered.

Sara kept her head down, not exactly ignoring him, but not answering the question either. She waited for him to leave, like always, and was irritated when the shadow remained at the door. Eventually she answered, "Maybe later. I gotta finish these."

He nodded.

Sara kept her head down and after a few moments, the shadow drew away from the door. She looked up at the space he had vacated, let her thoughts linger in the air for a moment before returning to work. Feeling the warmth on her back, Sara remembered. Grissom hadn't asked for the return of his jacket.

TWENTY – TWO

Grissom stepped out of the Tahoe onto the lawn of LV high. School was already out, students lingered on the lawn out front, socializing and laughing in the warmth of the sun. He pulled the cap lower over his eyes, grabbed a kit (just in case) and headed for the gym. He was half-way to the locker room when his steps were halted.

"Hey!" A female voice called out from his left. "Are you here about Jessica?"

He turned to see a group of teens, immediately labelled them "popular" and walked over to the bleacher they lounged upon. "Why do you ask?" he inquired.

The boy she was leaning against sniffed, "She was one of us man," he squinted up at Grissom. "Is it true you found in her in the desert with all those other girls?"

Grissom tilted his head, "One of you?"

"Yeah, you know bro, a home girl. One of the cool chicks. She was ok you know? When you find the guy that did that to her, he on borrowed time."

He sighed, good Lord, this was the future? "Did any of you see Jessica the night she disappeared?"

Another of the boys spoke up, "Nah man. She was with Tony after school, then she goes home and that's it. That's all she wrote."

"Tony?"

The girl who first called out answered him, 'Tony Flanders, they were dating when, you know…"

Grissom scrutinized the young woman in front of him, she was uncomfortable, that was obvious. And people who were uncomfortable were almost invariably hiding something. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He turned slightly and spoke into the receiver, "Grissom."

"Hey boss, it's me." Nick's voice sounded weary, but strong. "We got a match on the mould from the LV locker room, all of our samples positive, whoever this guy is, he's close by man. Real close."

Grissom smiled, he could feel it, they were closing in. "Thanks Nicky," he said. "I need you to keep on those vehicles and see if you can get a source. And check for any further DNA matches. No loose ends. This one has to be air-tight."

"You got it."

Grissom turned back to the kids, all staring mute and listening to his every word.

"You got a lead?" The boy was leaning over his girl-friend, eyes shining with anticipation.

Once again, Grissom ignored the question. He glanced around the gym, noting the wonderful view he was being granted from his position in the bleachers. "Do you hang out here a lot?" he asked.

"Why you askin'?"

"Well," he answered, "when people are familiar with an environment, it's much easier for them to recognize when something, or someone is out of place."

The girl looked confused, "Huh?"

Grissom started to explain when he was interrupted. "Oooh, yeah. I get it," the boy answered, nodding his head like he was in on a big secret. "You mean have we seen any funky shit in here that ain't supposed to be goin' down in a place like this."

Grissom couldn't help but smirk at that one, "Well, yes. That's one way of putting it."

The boy looked at him pointedly, "I dunno man. A lotta crazy shit goes on around here."

Still grinning slightly, Grissom nodded. "But most of it belongs here right?"

The boy nodded. Grissom could see his mind ticking over. Finally, it was the girl spoke, hesitantly, as if not wanting to make a fool of herself. "You mean like, if I saw you in here? That'd be weird right? I mean you don't belong here, right?"

Grissom chose not to be insulted, "Something like that."

She turned and looked intently at her boyfriend, who gave her an eyeballing that warned her to shut the hell up. A few moments of silent exchange occurred before, apparently, she won. He spoke to Grissom, "Hey man, you can't tell nobody we was here. And I mean it cause I ain't getting suspended over this shit you know?"

Grissom felt his pulse rate increase, but he simply nodded, silent.

The girl broke in, "Mr Corbett. We saw him." She glanced at her boyfriend, "Me an Bobby, we were here late, I mean, you know…" she trailed off and looked at Grissom for reassurance, his understanding smirk told her to go on – yes he understood. "Well we was here just messing around when I thought I heard something freaky coming from the locker room. I told Bobby to cut it and we listen. Next thing you know, Mr Corbett comes rockin on out, looking 'round like he don't wanna be seen. He's carrying something but I don't know what. Then he just goes on out the door. I mean it was rank, it was pretty late you know. We kept waiting for some chick…"

"…or some gay boy…" Bobby interjected.

She continued without answering, "…to come on out after him, but nothin happened. After a while me an Bobby just go on home. Didn't think no more of it. But I'll tell you this," she read the lettering on Grissom's cap, "I'll tell you this CSI man. Mr Corbett, he a science teacher, an like you say… He don't belong in here."


	7. Water, Water everywhere

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Am I the only one who needs a drink after writing this sht?

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Okey dokey, I think we are back on track. It is getting very hard to tread the fine fan-fiction line… The scriptwriter is yelling, "No! Out of Character, BAD girl, very BAD GIRL!" But the fanficcy in me is sayin', "You know what? Bugger off!" A little bit o case-file to start, but Brain, Pook – it's getting ANGSTY in here! Flash, you're a doll. Miss-Andro, God love ya – keep it comin, the reviews and the fics – hope I've done ok here…

Oh by the way, this is short n sweet, but things are gonna get longer and nastier, just a warnin'

**TWENTY THREE**

Catherine leaned forward in her chair, gaze penetrating into the troubled eyes of Tony Flanders. She had already laid the first of the photographs in front of him, one of the nice 'before' shots, and if he didn't spill whatever the hell it was he knew, she was going to show him an after that would make his lunch reappear in a manner no one would find attractive.

"Come on Tony," she said. "You're not a liar. You're not a killer either. Help us out here."

Tony twitched and rubbed at the redness in his eyes.

"Let me guess," Catherine continued, "having trouble sleeping?" She looked at the papers in front of her. "Your grades have slipped… finding it difficult to concentrate? Tony?"

"Look, I've been through this already man." Tony looked as exhausted as she felt. "Last year, when Jessie disappeared, you guys were all over me, askin questions, takin prints and stickin things in my mouth and shit. I'm telling you, I. Didn't. Do. Anything. I don't know what else you want me to tell you."

Catherine looked at Brass who tilted his head as if to say, 'He doesn't. We've been here before. Dead end.' But, ever the detective, he kept on.. "Look, we know this hasn't been a walk in the park for you, ok? But you gotta understand, you're in the middle of this thing whether you like it or not. You were the last person to see Jessica alive."

The downward glance was so small that anyone else might have easily missed it, but Catherine locked on like a pit-bull. "Tony? You were the last person to see Jessica alive?"

He glanced at her, then at Brass, eyes flicking between them like a deer in the headlights. When he spoke, it was not convincing. "Yeah, I told you that."

Catherine softened, concern filling her eyes. "Tony, if you know someone else saw Jessica that night…"

"Naw man," he was too quick to answer. "You don't know nothing. Like I told you, we were here at school. Left around five, I went to The Alley and she said she was goin' home. Last I saw her she was walkin' to the bus stop."

Brass prodded, "But she never made it to the bus Tony."

Again, his eyes cast downward. "I should've drove her."

Catherine leaned forward, "Tony, it's not your fault."

He shrugged and for the first time, Catherine really did start to feel sorry for him. He was just a kid after all, and a pretty dumb one, but no one deserved this kind of burden. "Tony? Is there anything you can tell me that might help us? Anything at all?"

"Naw." He shook his head, "I told you everything. After I left her, she just disappeared. But I swear I walked away, ask Mr Corbett, he saw me leavin."

Brass was the one to lean forward this time, "Mr Corbett?"

"Yeah, teaches science. I told you last time. He and a couple others saw me goin."

"Who were the others?" asked Catherine.

The shoulders shrugged again. "Dunno."

"But you remember Mr Corbett?"

Tony looked up and Catherine knew he was trying to tell her something, but she wasn't sure if even he knew what it was. "Yeah," he answered, "I remember him."

**TWENTY FOUR**

Sara sat in the break room, staring into space, thinking how empty the place felt with everyone out in the field, or in the DNA lab, or in Lab Three working on her case. She smiled slightly, _her_ case. What a joke. After last night, she'd be lucky to ever get on a case again. She couldn't help but think, as she completed the last of the filing, the reason Grissom left her to catch it up was to allow her time to complete it all, before she was given her marching orders.

What the hell had she been thinking? She rubbed at the hairline behind her ear, a nervous habit she had picked up since… Oh God what the _hell _had she been thinking?

The memory of crashing out in the lab haunted her like a very, very bad dream. The fact Grissom hadn't mentioned it earlier was a relief at the time, but now she was constantly followed by the dark cloud of her conscience. Admittedly, she hadn't actually been on the job, having received what basically amounted to a suspension, but still – never before had she crossed that line. _Drinking?_ _At work?_ Regardless of how many she'd downed before crashing into bed, or onto the couch, or onto the bathroom floor – she'd always been spot on before the job started. That was as much a part of who she was as anything else, more than anything else – her work came before her life. Damn it, her work _was_ her life.

'Well not this time honey.' The little voice inside her head was spiteful. 'This time you've really blown it. Why are you even waiting around? Go home. Stay there. You think they want to see you like this? You think _he_ wants to see you like this? He wasn't much of a fan when you were all joy and light, how much do you think he'll care now that you've turned into this?'

Sara wasn't even sure who 'this' was. She could remember a time when she used to look at women falling for the wrong kind of man and shake her head in amazement. She could remember a time when she'd walk down the street at night feeling invincible, almost daring a mugger to come anywhere near her. She remembered falling into bed with a smile on her face, just thinking of the day passed and the days yet to come. She remembered sleeping without screaming. It all seemed a foggy memory now, like looking back at the innocence of childhood before the reality of the world had a chance to interrupt those curious dreams. There used to be a Santa Clause…

A dim memory of Grissom's hand on her hair, the feel of his weight beside her on the sofa... "Oh God, Sara." She hadn't dared open her eyes, knowing it wasn't real and grateful for sleep that didn't have her crying out for him to help her as the grip tightened around her throat, that didn't involve a hand pushing against her face, the sound of the bones around her eye cracking beneath the pressure. Just a dream Sidle, just a dream. Well it might not be real, but it was all she had. So Sara kept her eyes closed, her last conscious thought that of peace, before she sank once again into the dark sea, struggling for breath.

She pulled at the cuff on the jacket she hadn't taken off since waking to find it tucked snugly around her shoulders. Whether it had been given out of pity or as a warning, she didn't know. Either way… But having the jacket on seemed to be her only reminder of reality, the only thing that kept her feet on the ground and stopped her reaching for the bleach bottle instead of the Jack Daniels.

That final thought jolted her out of her trance and onto her feet. When the hell did that image spring to mind? Sara moved to pour herself another coffee, hoping the caffeine might offer some support to her rational, coherent thoughts. The ones that used to dictate her life. There was a mutiny afoot.

The little voice inside her head was now laughing. Sara's brow creased as the hot liquid burned down her throat.

She was not a healthy girl.

**TWENTY FIVE**

Oh, how quickly things can change. Only a few hours ago, Grissom had entered the school, a sense of desperation trickling through his veins. But now… now he was moments away from stepping into an interview room with none other than Mr Roger Corbett, aka the Desert Baby serial killer. Grissom could feel it to his very core, this was their guy.

Grissom had watched the detention from a distance, quite willing to admit he could not predict his actions were he to move any closer. His exterior was calm, methodical – but inside – a thunderstorm was raging. Mr Corbett had appeared confused, stuttering his bewilderment as he was escorted from the biology class. He had protested all the way to the transport unit, at the same time reassuring his gaping students that there was nothing to worry about, go on back to class. This was all a big mistake. But as he neared Catherine and Grissom, his expression changed, not so as many would notice, but enough make Grissom's eyes narrow with suspicion. Because it was something Grissom could not explain.

Mr Roger Corbett recognised him.

**TWENTY SIX**

Sara paced the room, every so often pausing to glance out the doorway into the hall. Her hand rubbed behind her ear, eyes darting anxiously from the door to the clock and back. God love Nick – he'd come to her the moment Warrick called him with the news. He knew she wasn't meant to be there, that Lab Three was off limits, but he'd come anyway, knowing where to find her.

They had him, he was on the way. This was the guy.

Her mind wracked over the evidence; the hairs, fibres, stolen cars, even the mould residue… none of it was close to enough. Nicky had located two more stolen vehicles, but they again led to a dead end. Greg had linked the mould to at least six of the planted samples, but that didn't tie the samples to the killer. So, now they had an eye witness, but to what? Nothing, nothing that would hold up in court. But Grissom said he was sure…

How the hell were they going to get this guy on the evidence, when that was their weakest link? A backbone made of paper-thin glass, how could they expect to fight and be the last one standing? What was Grissom thinking, bringing this guy in so soon? She wasn't ready.

Sara forced herself to stand still, pulling her arms around her waist and clenching her hands into the cold flesh of her ribs.

She looked around her, at the eyes that followed her every move, "It's ok girls," she whispered. "I'll think of something. We'll get him." Her voice floated into the darkness, "We'll get him."


	8. Talkin bout my girl

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Am I the only one who needs a drink after writing this sht?

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Sorry it's taken so long to update, real life is getting in the way. This is a fairly intense chapter, though not as angsty filled as I'm sure you'd all like. But trust me, it's imperative to the story and there is so much more ANGST to come if ya'll can hang with me – you'll be glad (I hope) Up with the rating too. Please let me know what you think, I really appreciate all your comments and advice! Thanks to all who have already, especially my regulars, you guys ROCK!

I'll try to repost faster next time so get ready for some SERIOUS S & G torment! YAY!

**TWENTY SEVEN**

Grissom leaned back in his chair, relieved to be secluded in the dark comfort of his office. Corbett was being put through the intake, although he hadn't been formally charged, it was all still necessary and at least gave Grissom and Brass time to collect their thoughts.

A feeling of trepidation trickled once again through Grissom's veins, he could feel it running in his arms and prickling the tips of his fingers. 'By the pricking of my thumbs,' he thought. Grissom struggled to remember where he had seen the man before - he was familiar, but in the way a line from a song or a movie is remembered, and for the life of him Grissom couldn't remember the title. But there was something around Corbett's eyes, the light, almost grey liquid gaze that pulled at a thread of thought. A long, weary sigh passed through his chest and from his lips. The memory wasn't the only information evading him.

There wasn't enough evidence.

He'd spoken to Brass and Catherine before they decided to detain Corbett. Having lived through the release of Lurie and too many others like him, Grissom was hesitant, to say the least, about bringing Corbett in so early. 'The likelihood of gathering conclusive evidence any time soon?' Brass had asked. The resulting expression had ended up with them all, well, here. Now Grissom and Brass were only moments away from an attempt to bluff him into, if not a confession, then hopefully a big enough slip to help them gather further evidence. And at least now the guy knew he was being watched. He would try to maintain a normal lifestyle, attempt the pretext of innocence, but he would fail. The terrifying truth about 99.99 of serial killers, the compulsion to kill is relentless - there would be no denying his compulsion. If they didn't nail his ass now, that's when they would pounce.

Grissom leaned his head into his hands. Something else was bothering him, though he had tried to ignore it. Sara's Tahoe, it was still in the parking lot. That meant she was still here. Shit. His mind played over the past few weeks, her erratic behaviour, growing progressively worse until the outburst at the LV High locker room. He remembered the conversation in his office he desperately wanted to forget, the empty bottle he had disposed of in the trash in his kitchen. Coming in to see her the next shift, the first thing he'd noticed was the jacket, still gathered around her shoulders. Grissom could only pray it was protecting her now.

Brass interrupted his thoughts, "You ready?" He stood at the door, coffee in one hand, a bulging file in the other.

"No."

Brass smiled ruefully, "Well, it's now or never."

Grissom nodded. He again reconsidered his next request, the words feeling traitorous on his lips, "Brass," he said, "I need you to have Sara's file brought over."

Brass narrowed his eyes, "What?"

"I need…"

"I know what asked for," he replied. "I'm just wondering if _you_ do."

He sounded resigned, "I'm her supervisor, I'm entitled to look at whatever…" Once again Grissom was cut off at the pass.

"Don't give me that shit Gil," he said. "Your jurisdiction has nothing to do with it." He moved a little further in to the office, "Does Sara know?"

The look Brass received was enough. "You're sure you wanna do this?"

No, Grissom was not sure. But if he wasn't about to get the truth from Sara, then he would have to find it elsewhere. She'd closed him off, closed herself to all of them, and if she had worried him before, now she damn well scared him. Grissom nodded, "I'm sure."

Brass half shrugged, an eyebrow raised, a tilted head. "Ok. It'll be here." He nodded his head toward the door and Grissom rose to follow. Passing through the doorway, Brass turned, eye to eye with the troubled blue reflection. "Griss…A word of advice? Don't go looking for what you're not prepared to find."

Grissom winced, pausing a moment before following the detective down the hall. By the end of the day he would see into the depths of his worst nightmare. How could anyone possibly be prepared for that?

**TWENTY EIGHT**

Corbett sat forward in his seat, leg jumping to a nervous beat beneath the table. He had an off-kilter manner about him, rather sharp cheekbones below eyes that seemed as if they might easily tear. His mouth was small, teeth straight and white, he probably had them cleaned twice a year, right on schedule. He was tall, taller than either Brass or Grissom, and his hands were large enough to snap a pole, or a neck, yet there was a delicacy that was completely out of place. Polished fingernails, hair combed to perfection. Clothes neat and pressed. A man of opposites.

Corbett's eyes darted from Brass to Grissom, occasionally flicking to the long mirror that covered the left wall of the interrogation room. He'd seen enough movies to know what lay behind it. But that was not what caught most of his attention. Along the opposite wall and most of the one behind, Grissom had assembled the whiteboards from Lab Three. Corbett tried not to look at them, but constantly, like a moth to a flame, his eyes were drawn – pulled toward the faces and the scribbled evidence of their existence. His fingers began a ballet of their own.

Sixteen faces stared without seeing, but Grissom could feel their gaze, could hear their chilling cries. "This is the one," they silently screamed. "Don't let him get away, not again. Not again." He turned toward Brass, waiting his turn to dance with the devil.

Brass kept his eyes steady, boring holes into the jittering wreck before them. If this wasn't a man hiding something then he was a monkey's ass. There was a pile of duplicate pictures resting on the table, only slightly out of Corbett's reach. They had been placed purposely, Jessica's hidden at the bottom, the stack askew enough for more than one face to be seen. In his hand, Brass held a similar, yet horrifically different group to those faces that hovered around them. These were the autopsy pictures, taken just before each of the 'babies' were examined. To put it nicely, they were enough to make your common everyday Joe lose his lunch.

Brass lay them on the table in front of them one by one, like a deck of cards, with slow, deliberate precision. Corbett blanched. "O…Oh…Oh, my God. This is it… why I'm here?" He turned with desperate eyes to Grissom, "Y…You think I did…" he glanced at the pictures once again and appeared to gag, "…this?"

Brass had to admit, if he was guilty – the guy was doing a damn fine job of acting innocent. All the signs were there – fear, confusion, agitation – his goddam blink rate was through the roof. Well, at least he was verbal. Brass sat back and waited for him to talk himself into a hole, or at least close enough to one for Brass to push him into.

Corbett's eyes and leg were still jumping around the room, "Why? I mean how.. I didn't know any of these girls." Brass raised his eyes slightly, but then had to admit, Corbett was facing away from the picture of Jessica Andrews, and she wasn't exactly recognisable in her 'other' photograph. Corbett continued, his tone pleading, "You can't think… I don't understand. I'm not that kind of person. I…" He again looked at Grissom, "You don't remember me, do you?"

At this, Grissom lifted his head. Until now, he'd been keeping it low, avoiding a confrontational stare, but Corbett had gained his attention. Rather than answer, he tilted his head in question.

"You came to my apartment, when the Meade boy was killed last year. At Parlance Place."

Grissom remembered the case. A nineteen year old boy was found dead in the swimming pool, weighed down with a cement block tied to his neck. They'd canvassed the rooms in the complex, it was a closed community, but lower in the budget range. Thirty-two units, most occupied by either working-class Las Vegans or college kids out partying for the holidays. But they didn't get to #32. It had been relatively simple to find the culprit, he was discovered in #14 with a confessional note, an armload of substantiating evidence and the most convincing testimony – a bullet in his brain. Lovers tiff. Not exactly Romeo and Juliet.

Corbett continued, "You came inside, remember? You gave me your card…" He petered off, a helpless gaze falling to the photographs and quickly to his hands.

Grissom nodded, the memory sinking in slowly, like molasses from a jar. Unit # 7. In his mind, he re-entered the apartment. It was dark, the shades were drawn to prevent the sunlight wreaking havoc with a struggling air-conditioner. It wasn't a search as such, more of a routine visit, since the lover had already been found a few hours ago. But the blood-spattered apartment was directly above and Grissom wanted to see if a pattern had seeped through the floor/ceiling. More for his curiosity than anything else. Corbett had been co-operative, nice even. Offering them coffee and cake. Sara had declined politely, instead following Grissom as he walked to the bathroom and discovered the smallest speck of blood on the ceiling above the shower, directly underneath the area of the dead Romeo. Sara had spoken to Corbett, "You might wanna call the super, that's gonna get worse." Corbett nodded with a look of sickness covering his rather delicate features. Grissom handed him a card, they left. It had been a lacklustre appearance. The thought that Grissom had been inches away from this guy, right in the middle of his killing spree, sent waves of fury and frustration through him that he found hard to disguise.

Grissom glanced briefly at Brass before he spoke, "Unit seven. Bloodstains on the ceiling."

Corbett smiled, relieved. "I'm just a school teacher Mr Grissom. You've seen my home, I have nothing to hide. Please… I would never do these things."

Grissom returned the smile, but there was no humour in it. "We all have something to hide, Mr Corbett." He held the man's gaze as it faltered, eyebrows coming together in a confused pattern.

Brass interjected, breaking the moment between the two like a twig snapping in the night-darkened forest. "So Roger-boy, if you're such an open book, you wont have any trouble telling us what you were doing snooping around after hours in the boys locker room? Not really the kind of hang out one would expect from a science geek. Hell, I'll bet you weren't even allowed in one when you were running around in your jocks." A corner of his mouth raised, mocking, "No offence, but you don't exactly look like the college football hero type."

Corbett shook his head, "I… I don't know what you're talking about."

If Brass was hoping the guy would take the bait, it was in vain. He pushed anyway, "Late evening, deserted locker room. Janitors' gone for the day, kids all pissed off home. Well, maybe not all of them." He left that one hanging for a moment before adding, "You sure you didn't take a little trip into the gym? I dunno, maybe for a few samples to add to your collection?"

"My collection?" Oh lord, this guy deserved an academy award. "Collection of what?"

"DNA." Grissom spoke the letters like he was stating the time.

Corbett turned his gaze, "DNA?"

Grissom started slowly moving the original photographs around the table, softly tracing the outlines of faces, leafing through the pile with an almost seductive touch. "When we pulled them out, they all had a story to tell." He glanced at Corbett, whose gaze had fallen to his hand on the table. "But the problem was, none of the tales were true. At least, not at first." He continued pawing slowly through the pictures, still on the first few victims, with the exception of Jessica. "All the DNA was different. All the hairs, the fibres, not a single one matched. But you know what we did find out? They all came from the same place. You see, mould has a signature, just like any other species By dissecting the components, we can trace it to a single location, or in this case, all the way back to the Las Vegas High locker room."

Brass kept his tone quiet, noticing the effect Grissom was having. "Seems kinda coincidental doesn't it?"

But Corbett didn't answer, he was too engrossed in the hypnotic rhythm of Grissom's hand as it moved the pictures from one pile to another. He continued his leafing, but as he neared the last few victims, instead of placing them together, he moved them to the opposite side. With gentle caresses, the redhead fell to his right, then the brunette, the black. All peering out from behind the last, eyes like lanterns in the dark. His hand hovered a moment, holding briefly above the image before he revealed the picture of Jessica. Her face shone out like an angel, and Grissom's tender stroke ran down her cheek.

"Jessica."

All three men reacted to the whisper that escaped Corbett's lips. All three tried desperately to hide it. "So you knew this one?" Brass asked the question.

Corbett snapped out of his trance, and was instantly back to the bundle of nerves. "She, she was in my biology class. C minus. I still can't believe what happened… when she went missing the whole school reacted." He offered another smile, "She was very popular."

"I'll bet." Brass couldn't hide the sarcasm.

"I didn't kill her." His voice was becoming less frightened, more agitated.

"You know what interested me?" Grissom directed his question at Corbett. "No evidence." Corbett's eyes met his own. "No beating, no strangulation. Single skull fracture, back of the head. And she was buried. Six feet under. Whoever it was that killed her, took the time to give her a proper burial." His fingers began the gentle stroking of her face once again, "My guess? Whoever did this, didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. A fit of rage, or maybe she slipped and fell during an argument..."

Corbett shifted in his seat, a hand subconsciously falling to his lap whilst the other remained on the table, fingers pointing toward the photograph. "I know what you're doing Mr Grissom. It won't work. It can't work, I had nothing to do with this."

Grissom nodded, seeming not to listen. "It's a fine line, isn't it?" He was asking no one in particular. "Between love and hate. You put so much effort into hiding it, into keeping your thoughts from everyone around you. Pretending to be _normal_." He smiled and a small laugh escaped his lips, then as quickly as it arrived, the smile faded. "But inside… inside it's like a fire burning out your heart. Every time you look at her, every time she passes you in the hallway and doesn't even bother to acknowledge your existence. After all of the sacrifice, and the pain and…" Grissom's voice was becoming strained, his eye twitching in the attempt to maintain control.

Brass shot a worried glance in his direction, but it passed unnoticed. Grissom continued, the final words were forced out through clenched teeth, "You give everything you have, your dreams, your thoughts, even your breath. Every moment you exist you're doing it for her. Every time your pulse jumps in your neck, it's because she's alive. You'd do anything, give her everything… And then the bitch doesn't even have the decency to stop and say 'hello'."

His eyes were steely now, his hand had stopped it's movements on the picture, every muscle seemed to strain against the air. He breathed in and out a few times, trying to settle his voice, "So one day, it just… becomes too much. You try and tell her, but what the hell does she want with an old man? She rejects you, maybe laughs in your face, tells you what a fool you are. You can't bear it, can't stand knowing that she's out there, alive and loving someone else while inside your dying, hell you're already dead it's just that your damn heart wont stop beating... So you go to her again, only this time it's worse. Because this time you've already touched her, you already know how it feels to hold her, the warmth of her. But she yells at you, fights. Hits out and says she's gonna tell, she's gonna tell the whole goddam world and you're finished, you're done. Finally everyone will know your dirty little secret. You try to stop her, try to shake the thoughts out of her brain, to just make her stop _screaming_." Grissom's hand clenched into a fist and he pounded the table, once, hard. Silence settled across the room. Brass moved in his seat, not really sure what he was getting ready for.

Slowly, Grissom's fist opened, and his next words were calmer, quietly drifting across the table. "But then, suddenly, it's over. You look down and she's just staring up at you with wide eyes, with this… look on her face. She's so surprised…" Grissom's voice trailed away, eyes fixed on the photo, breath leaving him in quiet release. He didn't look up at Corbett, who was having enormous difficulty maintaining his composure. His eyes had filled with tears, the hand on his lap now gripping his thigh.

Grissom turned to the other photographs, his left hand pushing them around whilst the other remained on Jessica's image. He sniffed before continuing, "But now there's a hole in him. This gaping space that no matter how hard he tries, he can't fill up. All the hookers and liquor in the world aren't enough." Brass noted the changed of pronoun, but remained silent. "Until one day," Grissom played with the pile until he came to the second victim and slowly dragged her from one side of the table to the other, "someone else appears. Just like Jessica."

The room fell silent, all that could be heard was the ragged breathing of Roger Corbett. For what felt like an eternity the three sat, Brass waiting on Grissom, Grissom waiting on Corbett, and Corbett lost in his own world where anger, love and hate crossed lines of evil into a living hell.

Just as Grissom was beginning to think he had failed, that his journey into this man's mind had all amounted to nothing, that the sickness that rose in his throat at the thought he possessed the ability to do so was threatening to explode, Corbett spoke.

"They're all the same you know," he whispered. "In the end."

Grissom didn't reply. He cast a half-glance at Brass, who looked like he was about to jump out of his chair and throttle Corbett to death, then began leafing through the photographs as Corbett rambled on.

"They all cry, tell you they love you. That they're _sorry_." He gave a sharp, sudden laugh, "but they're just _liars._ And there's nothing worse than a liar. They just… tell you what you want to hear. Stupid. Little. _Liars._" He fell silent, simmering in barely restrained hatred, his anger flowing into the room and filling it until it poisoned the air.

Grissom swallowed, trying to control his emotions, wanting to simply reach for Brass' gun and eliminate this evil presence from the world. But the scientist in him, the law abiding Criminalist, couldn't let it happen – there were too many questions to be answered. His hand paused when it reached the redhead and once again, there were two piles of photographs. He touched the picture with a single finger, before moving it to the space in between. He asked the question softly, genuine curiosity filling his voice, "What I don't understand, is what happened… here." Grissom's eyes showed none of the anger, none of the repulsion, only a sympathetic question, a desire for the truth.

Corbett seemed to ignore him, reaching instead to draw the picture of Jessica to his side of the table, his own hands stroking the image with a tenderness a monster had no right to possess. "My girl who got away," he said.

Brass snorted, acerbic. He knew with that simple action, he had broken any relationship that might have been tenuously established, but he was beyond caring. As far as he was concerned, the guy had confessed, and even if he didn't follow through on a written admission of guilt, with this sort of nutcase, circumstantial evidence and a kick arse lawyer would be more than enough to put him away for life. He virtually spat the words out, not bothering to hide his disgust. "I'd hardly call dying at the hands of a homicidal maniac 'getting away'."

Corbett just looked up at Grissom, and smiled.


	9. 74 Pages

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Ok, this one is short I know, but I'm still figuring out where this is going. Thanks you all SO MUCH for reviewing, it definitely keeps me writing - especially when I'm about to run, screaming from the bedroom, "Why can't I just fall asleep? WHY?"

Rob – what the heck are you on about? I tried to decipher your review for aages and in then end, gave up. FanFic Obsessive – assume nothing MWAHAHAHAHAH. Pook, god love ya. God love all of ya, you really made my day with your support!

I really am not sure where this is heading… but all aboard the ANGST TRAIN! (and hope is eternal SMK)

**TWENTY NINE**

Sara nodded at the officer standing outside the interrogation room. He was young, new uniform, boots polished to perfection. "They done in there already?" she asked.

He smiled, thinking if all CSI's looked like this at the end of shift he was damn glad he'd chosen to follow in his father's footsteps and become a cop. "Yeah," he replied. "Bastard lawyered up."

"He's still in there?"

"Until the cavalry arrives." His gaze slid down, not bad, not bad at all. He stole a cursory glance at her left hand and was considering asking a damnfool question when she smiled her thanks and disappeared through the watch-room door. Oh well, he was sure there'd be a next time.

**THIRTY**

Grissom ran a hand through his hair, trying to pull the tension from his forehead as he walked down the hall. He was headed back to his office, the interview officially over. After the chilling smile Corbett had delivered, his next move was to request a lawyer. He then leaned back in his chair with the most unsettling air of confidence Grissom had ever seen, and said no more.

Exhaustion filled every inch of his body, the past few days had taken their toll. He stopped by the break room to grab a coffee, debated simply exiting the building and going straight home for all of three seconds and ended up exactly were he had started, head in hands seated behind the desk in his office.

"You okay?"

His head jerked up at the familiar voice and he smiled somewhat ruefully at the sight of a battered and worn out Catherine, leaning with her head against the doorframe.

"Mmm," he answered. "You?"

"Yeah."

Grissom marvelled at the strength of the woman standing before him; she really was something. The things she had survived, had become from experiencing them… He knew she spoke the truth about being okay. Maybe they all would be. Tomorrow.

"I sent Warrick and Nick home," she told him. "I've gotta go too, Lindsay's gonna forget what I look like."

He nodded, "No, she wont. Thanks Catherine."

"You should go home too."

"I know." He grinned when she raised an eyebrow. "I will."

"Night Grissom."

"Night Catherine."

Grissom sighed, this time seriously considering taking Catherine's advice. He looked at his watch, he hadn't slept more than twelve hours in what, nearly four days? Paperwork could wait, the case was far from over, but they wouldn't have the warrants' for a few hours anyway. There was nothing here that couldn't wait until tomorrow night. Except of course, Sara's file.

Which he had just noticed sitting on the corner of his desk.

**THIRTY ONE**

Sara leaned back against the wall of the watch-room, hidden in the darkness from the man who sat casually in his chair, fingers playing a photograph over and around like an ace from a poker deck. She felt somehow removed, as if she were watching herself from a distance, looking through a foggy lens at a stranger, who had no right to be there.

She could feel the eyes of the 'babies' staring through the one way glass, seeing into her soul. "He's getting away," they whispered. "You have nothing. Look at him, he knows it. You're letting him get away."

A strange movement at her side caused her to look down. Sara stared in wonder at her right hand, which tapped at the air in uneven tempo. Her brow creased in bewilderment, when had that started? She clenched it into a fist, digging nails her into the palm of her hand. At the back of her mind, she chastised herself, a perfectly balanced voice of reason that told her she was in trouble. Normal people didn't act this way, they didn't get drunk at work, didn't stay up for days on end chain drinking espresso until their head spun from the caffeine. Normal people spoke to friends about their problems, hell they had friends to talk to. They didn't look down to find their appendages moving independently from their body, or hear voices of girls long fallen to an early death.

And they certainly didn't stand in a darkened room, wondering how far they could get from the building once they had fired a bullet into a suspect's brain.

**THIRTY TWO**

Seventy-four. That's how many pages there were in Sara's file. Grissom knew this because he had counted them. An hour later, he still hadn't been able to bring himself to read a single one.

Seventy-four. That was about fifty too many for a law officer. Grissom pushed the folder forward on the table and leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes. His thoughts fell back into the interrogation room, to the words he had pulled from a place that lived in all of earth's creatures, best left well alone. He had never been an aggressive man. Oh, he had his dark side, a well concealed temper that changed the colour of his eyes and kept even the crazy ones a step away. But as a general rule, he was a pacifist. Evil repulsed him, confused him. Sometimes he felt as though it were a being in itself, infecting any mortal it deemed apposite, and there were few strong enough to resist once the talons had taken hold. He had seen everyday people turn into monsters, angels into demons, love into hate.

Grissom felt it touch him in that room. As the words had spilled from his mouth, his thoughts had turned to her; Sara, always Sara. Part of him had understood, could actually accept that a man could love someone so much that the love had turned to hate. That the desire and need to be with another became so great that it was all consuming. To have that craving rejected… He recalled a passage from a long discarded text;

_The H-Bomb is green _

_but the truth of it is black and white -_

_Indifference beat them all to hell._

He had been surprised by his own anger, the white hot fury that smouldered within his chest. But it wasn't towards Sara, even he realised that. The anger was reserved for himself. For his own cowardice. For the one who watched her suffering and couldn't bring himself to ask her a simple question.

Grissom pulled himself forward and snatched up the file, turning the first page with a heavy hand.

**THIRTY THREE**

The officer was more than pleased, two visits from a pretty brunette in one day, surely that meant an interest? He smiled as she approached him, giving her his best James Dean.

Sara narrowed her eyes, "Officer Turner right?" she asked. Of course she knew full well his name, she'd only read it from his tag a half hour ago.

"Yeah," he answered. "Hello again."

"Guess you drew the lucky straw," Sara snapped her phone closed and stuck it in her jacket. "Feds are comin' in. You're officially relieved." She grinned ruefully.

"The feds?" he seemed only slightly surprised. "Let me guess, just in time to take credit for all your hard work?"

"Something like that." She jutted her chin, "Listen if you want a coffee before you head back to the station, there's a break room down the hall.

Check the top shelf for the good stuff."

He swaggered a tad, "Care to join me?"

Sara flashed a smile would've knocked Grissom for six. "Wish I could," she answered, "but guess who's the new babysitter?"

Turner was only slightly deflated. "Well," he replied, "maybe next time?"

The smile turned mischievous, her head ducked slightly, eyes flashed.

Hook, line and sinker.

The door made a soft, click as Sara closed it behind her. Corbett looked up, hesitating only a moment. His lips drew into a delighted grin. "Well hello, Miss Sidle," he greeted. "How nice of you to stop by."

The amusement faded slightly as he caught her expression, his own faltering, though his voice remained disturbingly calm. "I don't think you're allowed in here, sweetheart. I've already asked to see my lawyer."

A small laugh escaped Sara's lips. She spoke softly, the words coming out just above a whisper. "Oh I don't think you're gonna need a lawyer," she told him.

Her eyes began to shimmer. "But I might."


	10. The coffee table flies anyway

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Firstly, I AM SO SORRY for the amazingly looong delay in the posting of this chapter. Real life and the unfortunate return of SLEEP (actually I was really glad about the latter) put a damn quick halt to my fanfic fun. Thanks so much for bearing with me… this is kinda short but I promise to continue soon. Let me know what you're thinkin and if you need anything you aren't getting…

Big thanks to my reviewers and especially K.C.-Clark for the kick in the pootooty! Oh by the way y'all – I'm female. I know, the name is ambiguous…

**THIRTY FOUR**

The initial pages Grissom flicked through without much investigation. Page three revealed a photograph of a smaller, wide eyed Sara. She was standing in pig-tails and cut-offs, hands balled at her sides into fists of anger while her face pulled into a toothless grin. It was a similar smile to the one she had perfected through the years, only her hands no longer bunched into fists, they crossed in front of her protectively - the fight now burning within and secretly hidden from prying eyes. It was more than Grissom needed, or wanted to know. That part of her was simply none of his business, not unless he was invited into it. The fact that it took him another seventeen pages before the juvenile record was complete, he pushed into the back of his mind.

He flipped through the official records, the ones he had seen many times and knew as well as his own. Graduated first in almost every class, university honours, readily accepted by the Crime Lab and moving through her training and Levels swiftly. He couldn't help but notice a plateau in her progression once she'd entered the Las Vegas Lab and he winced at the knowledge that it was not entirely Sara's fault – and now… There were insubordination reports, but Grissom believed that any great law officer _without_ a few insubordinations was either very good at talking in circles or simply corrupt.

The page that altered Grissom's reality was numbered forty-three.

It was a photograph. He only recognised it as Sara by the gap in her teeth, the rest of her face was so bloodied and battered that, if her mouth had been closed when the picture was taken, Grissom might not have accepted it. Her left eye was swollen shut – her hair matted and streaked with red and dirt. She hadn't been cleaned up at all, the dried blood caking on her mouth, on her cheekbone, down her neck. It still flowed in places, little streams of crimson that crossed like cobwebs across her ashen skin. Her shoulders were hunched, an arm cradled against her stomach, wrapped crudely in a bandage that looked as if it were fashioned from a ripped portion of her CSI jacket. The clock on the wall declared it was nearly three in the morning.

He turned the page, it was the kind of report he'd read a hundred times over. Assault. Battery. Rape.

Grissom swallowed the word along with the bile that rose in his throat. The image of Sara was already seared into his consciousness, now words leapt out at him, sentences branding his memory forever…

_Struck from behind… dragged into concealed area… severe contusions, abrasions, laceration of face and abdomen… fractures of occipital bones… positive for semen traces… multiple DNA results… no matches… ligature marks on wrist … distinctive thumb print below left eye resulting in pressure fractures… witness encountered victim 2245… multiple assailants escaped west down Whitecliffe… victim incoherent and disoriented upon arrival…_

There were more photographs, a rape kit, Sara's statements - thorough descriptions considering her state and their disguises, DNA summaries, possible matches, the witness account. She had fought back – of course she had, but there were two and she was attacked from behind. No, she couldn't identify anyone, they wore masks. They knew where she lived. _Victim again requests that further investigations be restricted within the department, refer all enquiries Detective Jim Brass…_

All of it went flying across the room, followed quickly by the coffee table, a commemorative plaque and the part of Gil Grissom that believed in the goodness of mankind.

**THIRTY FIVE**

The room was no longer a safe place to be. Corbett stiffened slightly in his chair, his body suddenly injected with adrenaline, like he had just walked through a spider's web in the middle of the night. Sara wasn't pacing, wasn't talking, wasn't even glancing in his direction – but he had seen that look in her eyes before. It meant danger for them both.

"Sara, whatever it is you're thinking…"

Corbett hardly got the sentence out before Sara laughed slightly, her eyes flicking toward him from an angle, "You know, Corbett… I'm making decisions in my head right now…" her hand raised from it's odd tapping motion in the air and sort of pointed toward him, "it's a _really_ good idea for you to just shut the fuck up ok?"

He swallowed and fell quiet.

Suddenly, Sara was animated. In one swift movement she was across the room and seated in front of him, leaning forward on her elbows, hair falling in wisps before her eyes. "Why?" she asked. "Why do you do it?" Her hands clasped, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. "I just… I can't understand it. What do you get from it? What do you…" For the first time her eyes lifted and penetrated his own, "Can you even tell me? Do you… do you know?"

For a moment, Corbett considered continuing his charade, debated stringing her along and seeing if he could pluck at the threads of her sanity until they finally snapped. But there was so little to play with, perhaps the truth would actually provide more amusement for once. He smiled softly, as if the memories were some sweet boyhood recollection, "Of course I know," he answered.

He watched as Sara's brow furrowed, as the soft trembling in her hands flowed through to the rest of her body and he offered her a sympathetic grin. "I know you want to hear differently Miss Sidle. I know you want there to be some terrible event or trauma that lead me down this path. Perhaps if I were the victim of abuse, or my Mother abandoned me, or even a nice chemical imbalance…" He sat back, almost casually as his eyes wandered around the room, "But the simple truth is, I've come to enjoy it."

Corbett glanced at the boards which surrounded them, drinking in the images that were plastered on each and drawing from his mind his own monstrous recollections. "Not Jessica," he said. For a moment his face darkened in what could have once been remorse, "that was a mistake, I… I want you to know that. I never meant to hurt Jessica. But… things happen."

He turned once again to the photographs, eyes roving. "The others," he continued, "they were revenge, Sara. Revenge against all the girls just like you. The girls who drift thorough life with their pretty hair and their pretty faces, and their dirty little thoughts all wrapped up into such sweet little packages." He looked at her, words patronising. "Such a sad little lot you are. Nothing ever touches you does it? No hairs on your silly heads fall out of place. Not until someone like me comes around, someone to remind you that life isn't all roses and candy." Corbett lifted a hand and reached for the other pile of photographs, the _after_ shots. "Life is cruel," he told her, "looks are… fleeting."

He shrugged and with that single motion, all regret was gone, in its place was an earnest curiosity. He too leaned forward, his eagerness causing Sara to shirk backwards – but only slightly. Corbett ignored the reaction, "Do you believe in fate, Sara?" he demanded. "That in all the great movement and jumbling in this world, there's one path that's been selected for you from the very beginning? Before you were even born?"

When Sara didn't answer, he continued. "I do. There's no other explanation for it." His hand snaked toward her, imploring. "Think of it Sara. One day, I'm just an ordinary guy, the teacher that no one really notices, the science geek. Then, in one tiny moment, with one push of my hand – the whole world is changed. All things. Turned on their axis.

She just… fell. It was like watching an angel… And then I realised, I had the power to change things. To change _people._ You have no idea how much clarity that kind of moment brings to a human being Sara. Watching someone, the moment they realise that _they are going to die_. It's a strange and wonderful thing."

Sara seemed unable to speak. Corbett couldn't decide if it was fear or rage keeping her plastered to her seat, her eyes fixed on his with such intensity they seemed to blaze.

It was amusing, really. He'd enjoyed including her in his little jigsaw of girls - letting her know, in his own way, that she was indeed simply a piece of his puzzle. Of course he realised hers wasn't an entirely similar case. She can't have been worshiped during her school years, long and gangly, probably too skinny to be considered beautiful, not to mention those teeth – and nowadays… Well after tracking her movements for a few months and watching through windows, listening through open doorways, Corbett realised that life for Sara was… different.

He smiled at her, wondering just how long it would be before her supervisor came crashing through the door. Perhaps he was already watching behind that long window – either way, he planned to have his last bit of fun before the game was finally over. He was getting bored with life anyways, why prolong the inevitable? He sniffed, "It wasn't your fault, Sara."


	11. Poker Face

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

This is getting really harder to write, mainly because I want to stay true to the story. Feel free to offer your thoughts. But bear with me if it takes a couple days to update. Yowza!

Swearing and nasty things ahead so be warned…

Only a few TINY changes in this repost but I feel better now…

**THIRTY – SIX**

"What?" The disbelief, the icy hatred flowed into Sara's voice and fell upon Corbett like a cold fog.

Corbett's lip curled into a satisfied grin, he had her on the run. He chose to ignore the question, she'd heard him well enough.

"Do you like riddles, Sara?" he asked. "I've got a great one." He pushed at the pile of photographs, delicate fingers quickly arranging them into two uneven stacks as he spoke. Just as Grissom had done a few hours before, the pictures were separated by type – all the 'golden girls' in one, the 'assortment' falling haphazardly in the other. Corbett glanced up, eyes dancing with anticipation. "I'll even give you a prize if you guess the answer," he goaded. His finger drifted to the space between the two decks and tapped at the table. "I'll tell you about this girl. That's why you're here, isn't it Miss Sidle? This is the one…"

Sara swallowed, anger and fear clenched between her teeth with a ferocity she had almost forgotten. The numbness, the lack of feeling that had seeped through her for months, was being washed away with every passing moment. She had entered this room prepared… for what? To kill? To die? It wasn't a question she could answer. She really hadn't cared. As Sara walked through that door, the only promise she'd made herself was that either way, Corbett was going down with her.

Sara had lived with fear for so long, now it was simply a part of her existence. Ever since that night…

She'd been so close to home, only a few feet from her doorstep, God she was tired. She could remember trudging through the leaves on the sidewalk, pulling her feet unwillingly forward and thinking only of a nice hot bath and the comfort of her bed. It had taken a long time to remember that the crackling sound – the one she heard late at night, or falling asleep to the first rays of light in the morning – was that of a stun-gun, it was the sound of the beginning… and the end.

She jerked at the memory, drawing a quick gasp and pushing it from her, as if she might send the thought into the air along with her breath. Sara looked down at her hands, noting that their trembling had ceased.

Everything had ceased.

It felt as though the world outside had simply stopped, as if waiting on this moment and those to follow, before deciding upon the way life might continue.

When Sara finally looked back into Corbett's eyes, her face was cast in shadow, darker than the blackness that settled into the corners of the room. "Try me," she said.

Corbett hesitated, noting the subtle change. His eyes narrowed; perhaps there was fight left in her yet. The thought gave him a strange, quiet pleasure. He leaned forward, so that she had to bow down slightly to hear him. "Before I tell you the riddle," he whispered, "there's something you should know…"

Sara's brow furrowed but she remained silent, her chin lifting slightly as if ready to take a blow.

"We're not all getting out of this one alive," he said.

**THIRTY-SEVEN**

When Brass entered the room, Grissom was bent over his desk, back toward the door and hands digging into the wood with such force that it might snap at any moment. He didn't hear the door as Brass closed it behind him, and the detective spoke three times before the words finally broke through.

"Grissom. Grissom! Gil!"

Grissom didn't move. His back stiffened, his words barely audible as they drifted across the room. "You son of a bitch," he uttered.

"I told you Grissom, you didn't want…" he didn't have time to finish.

Grissom swung around and stormed toward Brass, practically knocking the man backwards with sheer fury – it was a testimony to Jim that he managed to stand his ground.

"You fucking bastard!" Grissom yelled. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? I had a right to know!"

"Hey!" Brass held up a hand, ramming it into Grissom's chest as Gil descended, grabbing Jim by the collar with both fists, shaking him with each word as he screamed, "You son of a bitch why didn't you _tell me_?"

Jim stood solid, equalling the man's strength with his own, "You think you had a right?" Brass' disbelief was blatant. "It wasn't mine to tell Gil!"

"Don't give me that shit," Grissom was shaking, his hands gripping Jim's collar like a lifeline. "You should've come to me…"

"Bullshit!" Brass almost spat the words out. "Who d'you think you're kidding Gil? You knew. You knew something was wrong, you were just too fucking gutless to go to her." His hand clenched into a fist on Grissom's chest, now he was the one pushing back, almost holding the man up as he wavered uneasily. "What'd you think, it was all just about you? The drinking, the triple shifts… She wore a cap for three fucking weeks Gil! And you do nothing but stare at her from across the room! You think if you turn the other way you can make it all disappear? You think you can just ignore what's right in front of you and everything'll be ok?" He stopped, the anger and frustration at his friend compounding the burden he'd been carrying for over a year. "Sara tried to tell you, to get you to see… But you wouldn't even meet her half way. She tried so hard and you just… and you think you had a right?"

Brass shook his head, easing his grip as Grissom slowly backed away, only stopping when his legs hit the desk. He leaned down onto it, the realization of what he had done finally sinking in. He thought back to the day Sara had returned from leave. He'd noticed instantly. The heavy make-up, the CSI cap she usually took off inside remaining firmly on her head. The way she'd turn her face to the side when she spoke to him, or bow away, talking from beneath the cover of darkness. He'd known something was terribly wrong, but when he asked, casually over a DB in the gutter - she was fine. Of course she was, just tired that's all. Not really a holiday. Where'd she go? Nowhere much…

He stared blankly at Jim, who was no longer angry, no longer frustrated, just terribly sad. The utter uselessness of it all.

"I never… I didn't think…" Grissom let the words fall, acquiescent.

Brass sighed, "I know buddy. I know."

The two remained quiet for a while, the only sound in the room that of Grissom's ragged breathing. Finally he spoke, "Can you give me ride?"

Brass smiled ruefully, hoping that Grissom was ready for the reality the next few hours might bring. "Not yet pal," he answered. "You gotta pull it together, there's been a development with the DNA results from the locker…"

Grissom looked up, interrupting and not caring how it sounded, "Jim I really don't care…"

"Trust me," Jim cut him off. "You will."


	12. The sea and sandcastles

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to Ch-Ch-Ch Changes in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

I've reposted the last chapter with a few TINY adjustments, I feel like I'm rushing a bit and I think it's starting to show. I feel better now I touched up the last one and I hope this is a little more up to par. Thanks all for bearing with me on this one, your reviews are muchly appreciated!

**THIRTY – EIGHT**

The riddle sounded simple. It reminded Sara of one from her childhood years, 'What's black and white and read all over?' But this riddle was different, and she wasn't guessing for a slice of chocolate brownie now…

"Shall I repeat it for you, Sara?" Corbett asked. He was smug - too smug, as though he knew something else entirely that wasn't part of the game.

"No." she replied. She looked around the room, taking in the faces that surrounded them, silently begging for their help. The question rattled around inside her head, knocking against the other thoughts and bouncing onward as if her brain were a pinball game. **'What cleans the more it gets dirty, and no one ever notices?'** But the faces offered no respite, only haunted eyes and quiet whispers that fell onto the table and danced along the steel. Sara bit her lip and as she struggled for an answer, fell into the darkness of her memory…

She couldn't move, hands tugging at her, dragging her backwards. A dull ache in her head, all she'd heard was a cracking noise, now this… Everything was black and blurred. A familiar noise – a garbage tie? The quick zip as it drew her hands together, cutting the skin on her wrists. LIGHT! Two faces, no fake faces – what was that word? Oh my god… Scream, Sara, SCREAM! No shh, quiet Sara girl. Shut up Sara, that's the way. '_What cleans the more it gets dirty_?' You need a good clean, you're filthy now, all this dirt in your hair and scraping up your back. Think of the evidence. '_Why the hell aren't you fighting? You're just going to lie here and take it?'_ That voice again. _You're bleeding, you know. Your head's pretty messed up, but then it always was. _Grissom wont like it. Oh God, Grissom. _'No one ever notices.' _ You can say that again. Well they'll notice you now – just like an artist, you used to be one, once. Remember? But that was long ago, with sea and sandcastles… You'll get his full attention when you're a DB. How fucking ironic.

Funny thing was, she didn't really have any other place to be that night. The thought struck Sara as her jeans were ripped open and a hand closed in on her face, yanking her hair as a thumb pressed into her cheekbone. A strange thought, but nonetheless, true. She felt a few pops under her skin, like little bubbles of air bursting around her eye. She'd felt that before. The bones around the eye are fragile, paper thin layers. Occipital fractures, they'd take a while to heal. If they healed. Now _there's _a thought. Nowhere else to be… A kind of muffled scream as her hands were pulled above her head and the sinews in her shoulder twisted in protest, it took a backhand across the mouth for her to realise that's where it had come from. '_You're not moving Sidle,' _the little Sara inside her head was patronising,_ 'Don't you think it's time you did something?'_

"It was my way in," Corbett's voice drifted in and out. "Of course I used other methods, but really – I always found anonymity preferable to authority. You'd think people are less likely to question authority, but its not true. There are other ways."

Corbett's voice droned on in the background, he didn't seem to notice that Sara wasn't quite all there. "It's better to be seen yet not seen," he told her. "That way one can watch, without being watched."

"_Well no one's going to see you here in the bushes." _ Little Sara sat back on her haunches, shaking her head in disgust. It was like watching a scene from a b-grade movie, no use talking to the screen. Pathetic really, the way the girl kept valiantly struggling, a good CSI to the end. Collecting skin scrapings with her nails, biting into a wrist for mould comparisons, she even scored a few hits of her own, pretty good shots too. Double fisted, a broken nose, maybe a few ribs, those close combat classes were well worth it. Pity they didn't have a defence strategy for concussion… After a while, little Sara turned her back. It was a good effort, not that it counted for much – in the end the deed was done. And even little Sara felt the final blow, the one that sent the world rushing backwards – farther and farther away until there was no sight of it at all.

"I really did expect more from you." Corbett admitted. "And your supervisor, Grissom isn't it?"

Sara stiffened, snapping back into reality with a jerk. "What's he got to with it?"

"You were together when we first met," Corbett answered her with a knowing smile. "Don't you remember? The Meade case, drowning in a pool? Lucky number seven?" His eyes began to shimmer and he leaned in closer. "I knew there was something, special, about you. You have a way of moving, Sara, do know that? At least, you did back then. So direct, so fluent and confident. It's a pity…" He let the thought slip away, then his voice lowered, almost reverent. "I knew at that moment, you were going to change my life. I'd been settling for second best for so long… when I met you I finally realised, I could have anybody I wanted. I could let go of Jessica, I could let go of everything." He looked at her as if he'd just realised something, "I never thanked you for that." He sighed and leaned back, replaying the moment in his head somewhat differently to the way it had occurred.

"Oh my god."

The words left Sara's mouth without her will. She suddenly saw him, standing in the hotel room, in the doorway as she and Grissom discussed the pattern of red seeping into the ceiling. Her mind suddenly went into overtime and the alarm that had served her so well throughout the years blasted in her head with the power of a jet engine. Connect the dots Sidle, it's all part of the web. One strand leads to another, find the association. "Coffee? Tea? I have refreshments…" The offer rejected politely, a knowing glance at Grissom. His soft, rewarding smile. One of those rare moments when they connected, so briefly… Wait – Corbett's eyes, they were somewhere else, on another body, in another costume. A uniform. Official? No, not authority. Not authority? Where did that come from? 'What cleans the more it gets dirty?' Anonymity. 'And no one ever notices…"

And like a light flickering on in a darkened room, Sara understood.

"You were watching me for weeks weren't you?" she asked. "In the hallway, the break room, the car park… You were right there..." She thought back to all the times she'd seen his face, nodded in hello or simply passed by deep in thought, not even seeing him in the hallways as he swept and mopped. A slight laugh of disbelief left Sara's lips as finally, the picture formed in her mind.

"You're the janitor."


	13. Passing grade

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to Ch-Ch-Ch Changes in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

Oh I made up Lisa.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

**THIRTY-NINE**

Grissom stood with Brass in the DNA lab, not looking at the dayshift techie as she handed him the papers. Lisa had called Brass as soon as the results came though. Not like she had a choice. It had all appeared standard at first; the tags were coded positive, IDs were printed out. She'd been expecting a link to Corbett, so no surprises there. But that was when all normal procedure had ended. An alert began blinking on the screen, the CLOSED FILE window shutting down her access to the report. It wasn't one of the desert babies, the only information Lisa could access was Brass' name attached to a hidden case file. Brass had arrived within minutes, looked at the documents in silence, ordered her to keep it quiet and left faster than he'd arrived. It didn't take a forensic scientist to figure out it was an internal.

Grissom scanned the paper, eyes clouding. He glanced at Brass who remained silent, he'd already seen the results.

Two faces, both sickeningly familiar, stared blankly from the pages. Short histories on both, no criminal records, no prior notices to appear. If it hadn't been for the desert babies investigation, they wouldn't have been on file at all. But thanks to the swabs that Warrick and Catherine had taken, now they had all the information they needed.

"We've got 'em Griss." Brass told him. "They're in interrogation right now. They not goin' anywhere."

But Grissom couldn't answer. His jaw set, the muscle ticking beneath the surface. He'd been so close… If only he'd known, he could have killed them both.

Lisa glanced back and forth between the two, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. "So are you gonna tell me what this is all about?" she asked.

Grissom pulled in a slow, angry breath. "No," he answered, and walked out of the room.

**FORTY**

Grissom was half way across the building before Brass caught up. It wasn't a mystery where he was headed, or what he intended to do once he got there.

"Grissom!" Brass grabbed onto Gil's shoulder and tried to slow him down, but the man wasn't waiting for anyone. "Hey!" Brass grabbed him once again, but this time was forced to duck out of the way as Grissom swung around and shoved him back against the wall.

"Back off Brass!" he shouted, too close to out of control. All rationality had left him hours ago, what little was left had been ripped from him when Lisa handed over the DNA match. All he could think of now, was vengeance Career ending, eye for an eye all out retribution. Grissom knew it, and he didn't care.

Thankfully, Brass did.

It took the detective all of ten seconds to force Grissom back down the stairs and out the door into the car park. With a final shove Brass thrust him into the fading daylight, standing guard at the door while Gil struggled to breathe.

The tightening in Grissom's chest began the moment he'd seen Sara's file on his desk, a dull aching that made it difficult to think. Now it was more like someone had hit him in the stomach with a Mack truck. He half stumbled to a Tahoe and leaned against it with both hands, pulling in air and gritting his teeth against the rising desire to take out his gun and shoot every living creature he encountered. He'd been so close…

He remembered their smug expressions as he'd told them to get lost. The look on Sara's face as she watched him do it. But he hadn't known. Sara had – somehow something inside her had told her the truth and she'd reacted. Grissom closed his eyes as it dawned on him what he'd done.

**FORTY - ONE**

"Sara." A wide grin spread across Corbett's face as he uttered her name with pride. "Clever girl." He stared silently for a moment, as would a pleased parent or teacher. "I really didn't think you were going to get it. I am impressed."

Sara shook her head, confusion crossing her face, "But it wasn't you," she said. "I know it wasn't you."

Corbett nodded somewhat regretfully, they were no longer talking about his career path. "No, it wasn't. Right again." He gazed at her, but it was the Sara in his mind that he was seeing. "I admit, I thought about what it would be like to have you. To be inside you, to taste you… We could have been quite the pair." His eyes trailed down, his hand returning to grip at his thigh as a slow, jagged breath escaped his lips. "But even I know my limitations," he said. "As it was, you broke quite a few bones that night. I certainly didn't intend for any of them to be mine. But I am nothing if not resourceful. I found my pleasure in other ways."

Sara swallowed, refusing to allow the memories to surface, her intent fixed upon Corbett. "You were there." It wasn't a question.

He clasped his hands in front, resting his lips on his fingers. "It's amazing what some kids will do for a passing grade," he answered.

**FORTY – TWO**

"Gil? You ok?" Brass tilted his head, regarding Grissom with a concerned eye.

Grissom didn't answer straight away. It had taken a while to regain control and clear his thoughts, to slow his breathing and stand up straight. He'd spent the last few minutes staring toward the Las Vegas sun as it slowly sank below the horizon of cement and steel.

Eventually, he nodded his head toward Brass and offered a weak shrug. "Yeah." He wasn't and they both knew it, but there were more important things ahead. Now he had to find Sara.

He turned and started back to Jim, but faltered when his eye caught something in the black car beside him.

"What?" asked Jim.

Grissom's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, "This is Sara's car."


	14. Guns and monsters

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received up to Ch-Ch-Ch Changes in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

Oh I made up Lisa.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

**FORTHY-THREE**

Sara was silent for a few minutes, as if frozen – her eyes steely and shimmering beneath the lights. Corbett could see the thoughts as they passed over her face, like clouds crossing an open field and leaving shadows on the landscape. He was expecting any number of responses, but knowing Sara as he did, he really should have realized she would take the one option he hadn't considered.

She was leaving.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. This wasn't part of the plan.

"We're done," she answered. Not angry, not resigned, she could have been mentioning the weather.

Corbett half rose in his seat, "But I haven't told you anything yet," his voice betrayed a rising unease. "You haven't got your answers, Sara."

She smiled slightly, though there was no happiness in it. "I don't need answers from you Corbett," she told him. "I don't need anything from you. You're gonna rot in jail, and then you're gonna die. You'll die the same way you lived. Small. Insignificant. Nothing." She shook her head, somehow stronger than a few moments before. "You lost, Corbett. Class is over."

Sara turned and reached for the door, no longer ready to die. At least not for this.

"Hey!" Sara heard the threat in Corbett's voice. "We're not finished here!"

Sara paid him no heed. She turned and walked with calm, deliberate steps. Corbett's voice rose in anger and he along with it, knocking his chair back onto the floor. "Sara!" he demanded. "Don't you walk out on me! Who the hell do you think you are? We're not done here! We're not done!"

Sara looked back at him, only inches from the door, "Yeah," she answered. "We are." She turned away, her fingers on the door handle, her thoughts already of the world outside and what it offered.

If only Sara had pushed the handle, if only she'd stepped outside and walked away, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps, in some alternate universe, that's exactly what occurred. Perhaps somewhere out there was another Sara, another Grissom, and a place where their lives were not such as this.

It was the tone in his voice that stopped her - a low, menacing growl that felt like an icepick sliding down her back. "You think they'll make this stick, Sara?" he demanded. "You think they can keep me in here? You've got _nothing._ The only reason you're still alive is because _I_ _let you live._ Do you know how many times I've stood outside your door? Walked past you in the street? I've been in your house, Sara. Watched you sleeping. Watched you shower. I know every inch of you. I know what you smell like, what you taste like. The only reason you're still in this world is because _I allow it._ Do you hear me, Sidle? You're still here because I choose for you to live." He was transformed now, the monster finally materializing – all traces of pretence discarded. His voice rose, shaking with a barely contained fury. "We're finished when I say we are, and I don't remember dismissing you. Now turn around, sit your little ass back in that chair and show me some GOD DAMN RESPECT!"

His final scream sent shockwaves through her. Sara jerked, her hands coming to rest against the door, breath flowing back onto her face, she was pressed so close against it. A familiar thudding began in her head, a pulsating, throbbing rush of blood that filled her ears and swept away the glimmer of the outside world. She'd been so close, only a step away. But of course, it couldn't be that easy. As much as she had hoped, dared in the last few minutes to think that it might be possible, there couldn't be a happy ending.

It was just as Corbett had promised. Someone wasn't coming out of this one alive.

**FORTY–FOUR**

"Sara!" Grissom was yelling at the top of his voice as he bolted down the hallway.

Brass, only a few steps behind, barked into his two-way, "323 this is detective Brass, report back on status of suspect."

The receiver crackled, a confused voice popping through the white noise. "Brass this is 323. Stood down by CSI Sidle, confirm…" it was all Brass needed to hear.

Grissom pointed to his office as they ran by, "Keys in the drawer." As Brass ducked away, Grissom flew down the corridor, praying to God it wasn't already too late.

**FORTY-FIVE**

The gun was shaking in her hand as it pointed toward Corbett's head. She was having difficulty seeing against the blur of tears that filled her eyes and fell unchecked down her face. How did it all come down to this? How had her life gone so far off course that this was how it all ended? She didn't even remember how she came to be standing here, with her hands shaking like a rookie and her heart pushed up into her throat.

"Think you can do it, Sara?" Corbett asked. He was slowly backing away. Sara followed as if pulled by an invisible thread, inching her way around the table, the pistol never shifting from its mark. "Think you've got what it takes to pull the trigger? Come on, show me what you can do little girl. You want it all to end? Here's your chance. I take from you, you take from me. We're connected Sara, there's only one way this can all be over. It has to be you."

A choked sob left her throat. She gritted her teeth, almost screaming in her effort to fight against herself. Her hand opened and closed against the grip. _Do it Sidle. Do it! End it now. End it now!_ Her hand opened once again, finger coming down to rest against the trigger. _Just squeeze Sara, one little tap and it's all over. Just one single movement of your finger. _

"Sara!"

She was hearing things now. Why was it always about _him_? Why couldn't he just leave her alone? _It's ok Sara, it'll all be over soon._

"Sara! Open the door! Sara! SARA!"

"Come on little girl," Corbett glanced quickly at the door, seeing the slip in Sara's eyes. "It's time this was all over. Just like a bad dream."

"SARA!" This time the voice was followed by a deafening bang as the door came crashing open. Sara swung her head, instantly screaming at Grissom to stay the hell out, her aim zeroed in on Corbett, only a few meters away. Her eyes turned back to the teacher, wild, erratic. Grissom stopped dead as Brass and three officers rounded the door behind him. Guns were drawn, yelling filled the air as Sara was commanded to drop her weapon and all the while, Corbett smiled, this was even better than he'd imagined.

"Sara," Grissom's voice softened and he held out a yielding hand toward Brass. As the detective silenced the officers, Grissom stepped further into the room, easing toward her as he spoke, his voice gentle. "Sara, honey. It's ok. Don't do this. Come on," his hand extended toward her, palm open. "He's not worth it Sara. He can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt anybody."

"Get out, Grissom." It was intended as a command, but all Sara could manage was a plea. "Please, just get out. I can't…"

"I know honey," he whispered. "I know. But we've got them, we've got them all. It's over. It's all over."

"No." Sara shook her head, whether it was a refusal to believe him or to stand down, no one knew. Grissom took a step toward her, she didn't back away, but she didn't lower her weapon either. He took another step and when she finally turned to him, it was almost his undoing. She looked… defeated. Grissom's eyes brimmed and threatened to spill over, his hand only inches from her own.

"Please, Sara" he begged, voice cracking. It was all he could get out.

They stood that way for a full minute, simply staring into each other, as if somehow the answer might become clear. But it never arrived.

"I'm sorry, Grissom." Sara whispered.


	15. The mist in Winter

**Title: ** Bright Lights; Dig City **Author:** Jayke Manners

**Category**: Drama / Angst

**Spoilers**: Only received little part of season 5 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

**Disclaimer**: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. Bummer.

**Summary**: Casefile / Angst / GS

Sorry for the delay in posting… again. I'm not sure, but I think this is where the story ends. I'm not really, really sure… am in a funny mood and have just written the thing and am posting it straight away, so perhaps it isn't the best. It's very brief, I don't know if it comes across hurried. I can rewrite it more descriptively if you think I should.

Let me know what you think ppl. I need guidance… Who knows I may pull the whole last chapter and do it again, I might continue, I might just stop. Hmm, am in an odd mood right now, can you tell?

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**FORTY SIX**

There were two moments that would stand out unlike any others in Gil Grissom's life. One, hadn't yet occurred. The other happened a split second before Sara's finger squeezed the trigger.

She died.

One moment, Sara was there – desperate, frightened, angry, only a sliver of the person she once was. But she was there. The next, it was as though a light switched off in her head and she shut down, fading to black. It was all the time Grissom needed.

His hand, only inches from her own instantly closed on the weapon, flicking on the safety and causing her finger to halt half way to its destination. She was slow to react, turning to look at the pistol in hazy confusion. The finger once again squeezed against the trigger, as if determination alone could change the truth. Her mouth opened slightly, a voiceless question, and as Grissom eased the weapon from her hand and her eyes returned to him, Sara was gone.

"No!" In a flash of fury, Corbett charged toward the pair, but didn't get two feet before he was grabbed either side and thrust face down onto the floor, the officers' snapping cuffs behind his back and pushing none to gentle knees against his legs. A few muffled cries were silenced by a swift yank to his feet, face pushed against the wall and a fast, "Shut up" by Brass. His monstrous rule ended as quickly as it had begun.

Grissom spoke to Sara softly, slowly placing the weapon behind his back. "Sara?" he whispered. "It's over. You hear me? This is over." He watched as the words drifted into her mind, floating around like a mist in winter. "Listen to me Sara," his voice was soft, yet commanding. "Go back to my office. Right now. Stay there and wait for me, I won't be long. Ok? Sara? Go on. Right now, go on back and wait."

She watched him for a moment, before instinct took over and she followed the order. She walked without wavering, her back straight, her steps even.

Brass watched her leave before turning to Grissom, he didn't like the calmness that had descended, it was unnatural. "Are we gonna have a problem here?" he asked.

"No," Grissom replied. Gil's face was vacant, unreadable. "No problem."

"Right." Brass sounded sarcastic, even to himself, as he grabbed the back of Corbett's shirt and practically threw him at the officers. "Get him out of here."

Corbett stumbled, face red with barely restrained fury as he hissed the words at the detective. "I'll get you for this. I'll have your badge. I'll have all of you fired. You think you can touch me now? I'll be out of here in twenty four hours."

Brass was coolly dismissive as he watched Corbett being pulled to the door. "I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing happened in here."

Corbett realised what Brass implied as he was half way out the door, he swung back to look at Grissom, voice trembling with anger. "I'll get her again you know," he yelled. "It's never over. _It's never over_."

The wall actually cracked against the onslaught as Corbett was hurled backwards, crushed into the plaster with a force neither man knew Grissom possessed. Corbett gurgled in surprise as hands closed over his throat, his eyes bulging wildly at the voice which whispered hellish promises in his ear. He saw glints of blue light, stars and moonbeams that danced in front of his eyes while a black curtain slowly lowered to his chest. But the expected never came. Once again his death scene was snatched from his grasp, a bolt of light breaking through the darkness as he felt the hands being pulled away, the voice in his ear fading as his vision slowly returned to normal.

In the end, Corbett decided the only way to get a job done was to do it oneself. The last memory that flickered through his deeply troubled head, as he dangled from the bed-sheet that night in lockup, was that of Gil Grissom, struggling in the vice like grip of Detective Brass.

**FORTY SEVEN**

She sat, silent.

Grissom halted in the doorway, momentarily surprised by the wreckage in his office. There was broken glass, papers strewn across the floor, not a chair was left standing. At least the couch was unscathed.

Unlike the girl who sat on it.

He remembered the last time he'd seen her sitting like this, elbows on knees, head bowed. Then, Grissom had offered her a ride. A ride home. But back then he hadn't known Sara didn't have one.

She didn't look up as he knelt in front of her. Didn't move her hands as he took them in his. Didn't answer as he whispered her name. He was about to lift her chin, to raise her face so he could look in her eyes and see if there was anything left at all, when her head slowly descended, brow resting quietly against his shoulder, breath soft against his neck and chest.

His hand came up and lay against her hair, softly stroking as he spoke into her ear, "It's ok Sara," he told her. "We'll think of something, all right? It's gonna be ok. It's gonna be ok."

For the moment, it was a nice thought.

If only either of them believed it was true.


End file.
